There is Always Hope: The Firstborn at Helm's Deep
by Emiri-chan the GREAT
Summary: PG-13 to R for elf torture. Elrohir arrives before the battle to find Aragorn, but Elladan was captured by the Urukhai on the plains, and now both of them are dying. Will Aragorn lose his brothers to their connection... and Legolas as well? Not slash. CH 16!
1. Chapter 1: The Arrival and The Loss

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

~0~

**There is Always Hope: The Firstborn at Helm's Deep**

~0~**  
**

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

**Chapter One: The Arrival and The Loss**

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Tall rocks clipped the skyline in the distance as the dark cliffs came into view over sweeping plains. The lone rider smiled gently as he thought of his little brother, waiting there with that grin on his face that had charmed his foster father from age five. Although knowing the situation he was in at the moment, he probably wouldn't be smiling. Hopefully he wasn't getting into as much trouble as he did at that age...

The thought was momentarily blown away by a blast of pain from his temple, made worse by the pounding of his white mare's hooves against the resilience of the grass.

A frightened murmur sounded in his head.

_Elrohir... they are coming... I can hear them_, it cried.

The rider's eyes darkened, pain constricting his chest. "_Dartho, gwanur-nin_. Hold on, my twin brother," he murmured back, wind sweeping his dark hair from warm cerulean eyes. "_Estelio nin. Estelio... Estel_. Trust me. Trust... Estel." He felt his brother catch the sliver of humor despite their situation and smiled, forcing his energy to return.

"I will be there soon, Elladan. Please, hold on." The flawless Sindarin spilled from his lips to his brother's ears through the great, dark void.

He received an unseen but perceived nod in return. Each brother silently promised the other that they would have the full reserve of their strength. Elrohir urged the horse on, into the sloping hills that framed their destination. The white mare knew that something was dreadfully wrong with her Elven master and she was growing increasingly skittish as they rushed on through the waving tan blades.

His grey-green cape swirled in the strong gusts from the precipices looming ahead, mixing with the dark streak of his long tresses. The edge of the drop brought them to a momentary stop as the white mare looked for a path to the rocky cliffs. Elrohir felt his grip weakening on the mare's mane, his slumped position against her neck growing more and more tenuous, and he was beginning to fear what would happen should he lose consciousness.

_I will hold for him_, he thought grimly. _I will not fail him now! Not again._

Elrohir whispered another soft encouragement to the young mare and they sped away down the incline toward the the black stone walls shadowed within the deep.

Helm's Deep.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"How many did you say we have?" The dark-haired man demanded, piercing, bright blue eyes settling on a heavily-armored sentry in the centre of the throne room.

"Three-hundred, sir. At most."

His blood froze.

The ranger's expression was practically unchanged but for the clenching of his jaw, the hard, tight set of his brow and high cheekbones giving his face a sharper edge. The legions of Uruk-hai he had seen crossing the plains were at least in the thousands. There was no way they would hold against them, not without reinforcements.

Lots of reinforcements.

As far as he knew there were none to be had. They would have to hold out until Gandalf returned, but Saruman's army would be here long before him.

It was inevitable: for now, for tonight, they would be fighting alone.

A silence overtook the large room, but not even the thundering of an oliphaunt could have penetrated the thick feeling of dread and grim realization that now filled every corner. Legolas and Gimli exchanged a meaningful look, not daring to speak. They didn't have to, as the silence was shattered abruptly when Aragorn made his way to the doors, the booted footfalls echoing across the stone. Legolas caught a quick glimpse of his expression before he was gone in a whirl of cape with the sound of his quick pace lingering down the hallway.

The guards didn't move for a few moments, then left for their assignments and preparations for battle at a sharp command from the lead sentry. Their air was one of obvious shock and Legolas saw the signs of fear and panic that were surely and quickly setting in.

"Well, I must say," Gimli remarked offhandedly, his gruff, heavily-accented tone directed at the elven prince, "this could be a bit difficult. Not that I don't think you and I will make some good sport of half of them, but the other half might prove a problem."

Legolas returned his friend's dark grin. Yes, this could prove to be a problem.

The Mirkwood elf left the dwarf's side, striding to the large double doors and heading down the hall toward the keep in search of Aragorn.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

A few minutes of searching brought him to the top of the wall overlooking the sweeping, tawny plains of Rohan. Legolas' green suede tunic and fair hair stood out slightly from the brown, grey and dirty gold of armoured men and rock walls that filled the sturdy keep, and the soldiers moving everywhere couldn't help but stare as he passed them, the embodiment of all the grace and beauty of his people.

His skill as a warrior had been seen on the plains during the warg attack, and the stunning display was not soon to be forgotten by the surviving Rohirrim. Now that talent was hidden beneath smooth muscle and quiet poise, waiting only for the chance to be unleashed on an unwary Uruk-hai.

Or perhaps a wary one.

The prince caught sight of his objective immediately. Aragorn was standing on the pathway over the wall, his ragged leather coat floating around his knees, his dark hair flowing in the breeze, two guards posted on either side of him some meters away to keep an eye open for the Uruk-hai. Legolas closed his eyes briefly while ascending the keep as the sweet wind caressed his face, pulling his mane of light gold behind him into its current. The grassy countryside was truly beautiful, even with grey clouds slowly darkening on the horizon, polluting its glory.

However, the ranger's broad back was turned to that beauty and the yet-hidden chaos it would soon sport.

The stairways leading down both sides of the keep were filled to the brim with ragged Rohirrim men and lads carrying swords, shields, armour and bows, each man hurrying to wherever he needed to be at the moment. Theoden was making his rounds on the far side of the wall, the perfect picture of royal leadership in his tunic of rich red, deep green and bright gold, giving curt orders for women and children to be taken to caves and different supplies to be gathered. Gamling was tall and attentive at his side as they assessed where and what would be coming upon them, and what arrangements needed to be made.

Aragorn's eyes were not, however, fixed on the king, nor on any of his soldiers. They were settled lightly on a small boy, no more than ten years old perhaps, standing rigidly next to a very tall, very shaggy Rohirrim sentry. In his hands was a large sword, probably three-fourths of his height if held vertically, and his impossibly small arms were shaking with the weight.

But it was the look on the boy's dirty face that told Legolas Thranduilion why the Dunadan was watching him. The huge blue eyes were wide and bright with unshed tears, his pale cheeks and quivering chin telling all. His shoulders were straight and his head held high, pride refusing to let him cry in front of all these battle-hardened grown-ups. The fear on his face was so overwhelming that the Mirkwood elf almost had to look away. It was obvious how tragic and futile it would be if they used the lad as one of their numbers.

That boy wouldn't be able to lift the sword in his own defence, let alone slay a seven or eight-foot-tall, two-hundred-pound Uruk-hai warrior.

He would surely be killed.

Aragorn didn't turn, but Legolas knew that the ranger sensed him standing behind him.

"...Why do they have to do this?"

The elf looked at Aragorn. His tone was a soft; a slow, confused inquiry, almost to himself. "Why must they be forced to die for such meaningless battle? Why does Saruman think that this will benefit him in any way...?" He paused, his voice dropping to a barely audible whisper. "How could he be so heartless, so cruel, as to do this to one so small as he? What has he done to deserve such a fate?"

Legolas' answer was just as soft. "Evil has no reasons but selfishness and control. Saruman does not feel love or understand beauty any longer. If he were still capable of such feelings, he would never have done anything to harm anyone in Middle-earth. Nor would he have created such armies to begin with. Greed and a lust for power has taken his heart, blinding him to all else."

Aragorn stood silently for a few moments, taking in their surroundings, the panic, the fear, the grim, resigned preparation. Legolas stayed with him, giving his friend the quiet comfort he needed, waiting. Then the Dunadan's resolve came steadily.

"I will not watch them die."

"Nor will I," the prince agreed. "I could not let these edain (humans) go into such peril without aid. The guilt alone would be enough to end immortality for one of my people."

Aragorn turned and faced his friend, pain glittering in deep, blue eyes. "You could not simply have left for the White Shores," he said. It was half statement, half question. His tone was almost rhetorical. "Could you not have left for a land in which such evil does not exist?"

"The knowledge that evil such as his does exist in other lands would have followed me there unending," Legolas said firmly. "My father could not have convinced me to do anything other than stay and aid my allies."

The ranger grinned. "I am glad that you and Gimli are here with us." His smile faltered. "However... though I would miss you if you left, I would also see you safe in Valinor, rather than in the midst of all this despair and hatred. And grief," he added, almost as an afterthought. "It would be comforting to know that you and-" Aragorn cut himself off.

"...I am sorry."

Legolas could not help but smile as he placed a hand on the man's shoulder. It was unusual for Aragorn to speak of this, but not an impossible occurance.

"She will not leave. You know she will not, not while she can still be here with you in the world of her birth. I can only hope she made her decision, as I did." He would have liked to say he knew, but it was unclear as of yet whether Arwen Undomiel had left for the Grey Havens. Her father had been very adamant of her departure, and one did not refuse Lord Elrond Peredhil lightly.

But then, this was not so light a matter.

"Heed me, Estel," the elf told him, a slight smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "I do not dread pain, nor even death, come what may from my choice to remain here. I do not wish to die, to leave my companions, to experience the bitterness of mortality... But if I should die, then I will simply find my way to the white shores by a different route, as all do one way or another. There is no fear when you remember that." He grinned. "Most of the time, anyway."

Aragorn returned the grin, but his heart ached for his lifelong friend. To see him suffer and die at the hands of those dark creatures in the hills would have broken him; he would never have been able to recover from that.

And Arwen... If she were to be harmed-

He shook his head mentally. 'No. Arwen is even now sailing on the grey ships for the Havens,' he told himself. 'She will never be hurt. She will never be murdered by brutal creatures howling for her blood. She will remain in the green lands of Valinor, with her father.'

_Our father._

Even now the ranger couldn't really accept that Elrond would be leaving them. His brothers... his childhood friends... Many of the elves had already sailed across the sea. And while he would never wish his meeting with Arwen away, he longed for an end to the rift that had grown between him and his foster father since that day, the day they had declared their love. It wasn't a complete end to the Elrond's relation as his father; he knew he loved him as much as he did the elf-lord. But still, any weakness in that bond unsettled him, and he wished it could disappear.

A sudden movement from Legolas brought a sharp twitch from his fingers resting on the Dunadan's shoulder, making him look up at the elf. He had stiffened, straightening up with a stern expression of concentration.

"Legolas?"

"...Something draws near."

The Mirkwood prince released Aragorn and jumped to a higher vantage point atop the raised railing of the wall, causing the two human guards to jump in their posts. His face was intense, vibrant blue eyes searching quickly for anything in the wide, empty canvas of grass and rock. His bow had appeared in his hands reflexively from its place on his back, the smooth handle clenched in white knuckles.

Aragorn followed suit, leaning over the edge to see what had drawn the elf's attention. Visions of bloodthirsty beasts and towering trolls flitted across his memory, and he strained to see what dark scout had travelled across the plains to assess them.

It was not what he expected.

A single horse and rider were becoming visible over the top of the hill. The figure had a cape and its hood was back, but it was just far away enough as to obscure any colours. As it came closer, he realized the horse was white, and for a split second his heart filled with hope. Could it be Gandalf returned so soon?

Yes, the cape was grey, but the hair was dark, almost black...

_It couldn't be...?_

More soldiers had gathered to see what was approaching, attracted instantly by the elf's alertness and their lord's seeming worry. The hooves of the creature could be heard plainly now, growing louder. Who could be coming? A messenger of Gondor perhaps?

Legolas squinted slightly and, through a break in the rider's whipping hair, caught sight of his face as he straightened from leaning forward on the horse's neck. "Estel," he called behind him.

The soldiers looked at each other blankly at the curt use of Elvish.

Aragorn leaned forward even further, so far that the guard next to him had to restrain himself from grabbing the back of his lord's tunic to keep him from falling to his death. Finally the ranger saw the rider clearly and had to stop himself from crying aloud with surprise and joy, sucking in a quick breath.

"Elrohir!"

Legolas and Aragorn exchanged a brief look of happiness before rushing away toward the staircase.

"Open the gates!" The elf yelled, skidding down the stairs and leaping off to the ground fifteen feet before he reached the bottom. Aragorn was flying behind him in a mad dash, nearly tripping on the last step in his rush to meet his elven brother at the gate.

Bewildered, the men pulled away the large beams sealing the door and strained at them 'till they opened with a loud groan. In clattered a pure white mare, on whose back was a regal figure clad in a grey cloak.

The horse rushed in shining with sweat; it was obvious she had worked hard to get here swiftly, and she skittered back and forth nervously, fear rolling her eyes. A soft command in Elvish quieted the beast, and Elrohir Elrondion swung a leg down to the ground, soft leather boots making no sound as they touched stone. His dark brown hair flowed smoothly about his face, still strangely perfect with two simple braids, his complexion pale with a slight flush on his cheeks.

However, Aragorn could see as he approached a weariness in his brother's gaze that he had only seen in the most dire of straits, a hidden truth that only he knew. The ranger ran up to meet his beloved elder brother, a smile lighting up his face as none the Rohirrim had seen.

The elf saw his little brother immediately, and his identical smile followed. The armoured men closest to him stood in wonder of this new elf and the light that he emitted, muddying the flow of men that came rushing in and out of the passageways. The women and children huddled against the walls spoke in whispers, awe playing across every face, and they watched as Lord Aragorn came to meet the new arrival.

"_Mae govanen_, well-met Elrohir," the ranger greeted him, clasping his elbows before enveloping him in a tight bear hug. Releasing the elf to arm's length, he gazed happily into his eyes. "What brings you here so late?"

Elrohir's grin widened despite the obvious tension. "I was trying to drive you skittish," he said with forced nonchalance. "The look on your face would have been priceless if I had come just before the battle started. I hope you've been keeping out of trouble?" He was speaking in Westron, probably to embarrass him in front of the other humans and lighten the situation. Valar knew he had no desire to speak of what had happened on the plains...

"Please tell me you at least managed to stay away from any cliffs this time?" Elrohir continued.

"Actually, no," Legolas interjected lightly, ignoring the ranger's glare. "He went clean over into a river. On the back of a warg no less."

"On the back of a warg?" His tone was incredulous despite himself.

"No," Aragorn corrected in a low voice, staring angrily at Legolas, who was grinning. "My arm was caught in the saddle and it dragged me with it; I couldn't help it. I did not purposefully attempt to fall!"

"Oh come now, Estel," Legolas teased, "you would have probably done it anyway without the help of that beast. Just like old times, hmm?" he commented, slapping him on the arm.

The murderous look on the ranger's face was enough to get a snort of laughter from the Mirkwood elf, who was trying to look as stoic as possible. Elrohir looked as though he would laugh as well and his mouth opened to allow it, but then a twinge went through the muscles of his face and he cut off, seriousness replacing his mirth. His eyes were dark, clouded. His grip on his sibling's forearms was strong now, and his brow furrowed in concentration.

Aragorn sobered instantly, knowing now that something was definitely wrong.

"Did you have any trouble with the orcs?" he questioned quietly, his left hand moving up to his brother's shoulder before checking his forehead for any signs of fever. "You aren't wounded?"

"No," he assured him, shaking his head, "nothing serious." Strangely the negative answer seemed to make the elf even more upset. Elrohir met Aragorn's gaze steadily. "I must speak with you. Ada sent us to..." He trailed off, his eyes flickering.

_Wait a moment. Us?_ The ranger realized just what seemed so wrong as the words rang through his head. Of course! How could he have missed the lack of the elder twin with his brother's arrival?

"Elrohir," Aragorn said slowly, "Where is Elladan?"

The elf didn't answer and the Dunadan's heart sank. The younger twin was looking down at the ground now, his features half-hidden once more by his hair.

"Elrohir?" Legolas stepped closer to the Noldor elf, blue eyes intense and stern with apprehension.

He still didn't look up, and Estel was stricken with a deep fear. "Gwador-nin," he pleaded. "Please." The few humans who had continued to stare at them were drawn by the sudden change in manner of the three men. Elrohir finally tilted his head up just enough to let his eyes catch his little brother's.

Aragorn was shocked to see tears welling within them like drops of dew. "...Elrohir..."

The elf swallowed, trying to get his vocal chords to work as he choked on his emotions. Despair came into his words at last. "Aragorn, I... we were attacked by Orcs. He..." A choking sob made him pause.

"Estel... I lost him."

The ranger thought his heart would shatter from the pain. He cried out in disbelief and sorrow at the thought of Elladan being lost. It couldn't be! It just couldn't-

Elrohir realized what he had just said when he saw both man and elf's faces and immediately shook his head. "No! No, no he is not dead, Estel, I can feel him! But, he is wounded, and..." Aragorn's features relaxed in relief and he breathed deeply, but his next words did little to comfort him.

The quiet statement sent shivers down the Dunadan's spine as effectively as a freezing wind.

"The Uruk-hai have taken him."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

King Theoden watched as the dark-haired man entered his gates and dismounted to speak with Aragorn, a great joy encompassing his features. The man seemed to know him, being obviously happy to see the ranger and vice versa, judging from their warm embrace. _Perhaps he brings news of the assistance Lord Aragorn spoke of seeking_, he mused, a tiny grain of hope taking root in his chest.

He turned to his aide. "Gamling, get all the men together. Make final rounds of the caves for any more recruits," he said heavily, a soft sigh issuing from his lips. "Inform me of their preparations."

Gamling bowed curtly and took his leave in the direction of the path to the glittering caves.

Looking closer at the man, Theoden realized that something was indeed different about him, but it was not until he approached them that he realized there were unmistakable similarities between him and the Prince of Mirkwood. Pointed ears poked up from under dark, smooth tresses, and a soft glow was coming from his skin and clothing alike. A strong light was kindled in his eyes.

This was no man, but one of the Firstborn: an elf, probably from the ranger's far havens of Rivendell or Lothlorien.

The king strode down the stone road leading to the gates which were being reinforced, waiting for Aragorn to acknowledge him. As he stood patiently, however, it was quite plain even from twenty or thirty-feet away that something was amiss. The Dunadan's expression was dark and he let out a small cry of dismay.

Theoden decided to move forward and see what was the matter, and in doing so he caught the last soft words of the elf:

"The Uruk-hai have taken him."

The king's heart went out to this new being. He knew what it meant to be taken by Orcs or Uruks, and it was not a pleasant end. Aragorn saw him coming and made a small bow, not releasing the dark-haired elf's arms. He was turned away to hide his face, but a small shaking of his shoulders told all. He was crying.

"My lord, this is Master Elrohir, son of Elrond of the house of Rivendell," he introduced swiftly.

King Theoden gave a nod. "Lord Aragorn, who is it of which he speaks?" he asked him, sympathy in his stern gaze.

"Our brother, my lord," he said quickly, his expression silencing the slight question in the king's eyes. "They were travelling here to meet us for battle, but they met with the Uruk-hai on the plains and Elladan, his twin, was taken captive."

Theoden was slightly taken aback. One of the sons of Elrond had been taken? This was not good. "How long ago?"

"A day and a half," was the soft, tortured reply.

Theoden glanced at Legolas and Aragorn and nodded at the keep. "Come, let us go to the throne room and discuss this there. It will provide a bit more seclusion," he offered. The ranger nodded, and putting an arm around Elrohir's shoulders he led him to follow behind the king, Legolas treading silently behind them.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Elrohir tried to compose himself as they ascended the stairs to the king's chambers, wanting to maintain at least some of his dignity. They would find Elladan, they'd have to! Estel and Legolas would help him find and rescue his twin, and all would be well again. He didn't think his spirit could bear any alternative. Elrohir stood before Theoden in the stone room, straightening to face him properly.

The king's look was one of pity and great weariness. "I am sorry for your loss, Master Elrohir. When was the last time you saw Master Elladan?"

"When the Orcs attacked, followed by the Uruks," he said dully. "We fought them off as best we could, but their numbers were great and they overtook Elladan. They dragged him off his horse and swarmed me, taking him toward their legions in the hills. He... he bade me to leave, to find help and return, just before they-"

The Noldor elf stopped involuntarily and drew back his shoulders, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. He faced the king with renewed determination. "He was struck across his temple after they took him, and I could not follow. Luthien carried me to safety."

Aragorn would have smiled at the mare's name, but the situation was too tense for that as he listened to what had taken place. For some reason his brother's statement abruptly stuck out, echoing back at him.

_...he was struck...and I could not follow..._

The bond!

_Oh Valar!_

Panic seized Aragorn and he looked at Legolas with wide eyes.

"Legolas..."

The Mirkwood elf looked puzzled for a moment, then it clicked, and his jaw dropped open slightly, his features taut with grim understanding. "Ai, Elbereth," he murmured, turning to Elrohir from his place at his left. His tone was understanding. "Elrohir, you were hurt in the skirmish, were you not?"

The guilt and grief on his face ran deep. "Yes," he admitted.

Theoden could understand why elf and ranger would be upset about either brother being injured, but it seemed that this one was not mortally wounded, and he hadn't seen why it would be overly surprising. What was unapparent to him was the sudden urgency and blame the Eldar bore for his wounding.

"Aragorn, what is going on?" he inquired, eyes flitting back and forth between Noldor elf and Dunedain ranger.

It was Legolas who answered.

"Elven twins are a very rare occurrence, and when two are born, they share a deep connection, as all brothers do. They are capable of sensing each other's emotions, using internal communication. And feeling each other's pain," he said quietly. The statement hung suspended for a moment, then he continued. "But in some cases, the bond is so strong that actual physical manifestations can appear on each of the twins to the other." He took a deep breath. "This is the case for Elladan and Elrohir."

"My lord," Aragorn addressed him, "if Elladan is not found, and rescued, then whatever happens to him will happen to Elrohir. And if the Uruk-hai kill him, then..." He could not finish. The pain on his face was clear as he looked upon his older brother's battered form.

The king was flabbergasted. He knew he shouldn't have been, seeing as he knew that elves could also die of grief. But still, if the implications of this were true-

Yes, surely enough, there was a dark bruise on the right side of Elrohir's head. He had said that Elladan had been struck, not he. The elf's pale pallor and slightly heavy breathing became more apparent and his doubts vanished.

"His twin was taken while distracted by an injury not his own?" Theoden asked softly. Elrohir's head was bowed low.

"Gwador, it was not your fault," Aragorn told him softly, his eyes imploring the elf to believe him. "It could not be helped."

Elrohir opened his mouth to reply but was stopped by a sharp pain in his abdomen. A scream echoed loudly in his head and realized it was his own-

No, not his own. Elladan's!

The elf's knees buckled as the sudden, excruciating pain in his stomach extended practically all the way through him into his back.

Aragorn called his brother's name frantically, reaching for him as he fell into a sitting position on the cold stone floor. Long, slender arms wrapped tightly around his midriff as he choked on the vacuum replacing his lungs. The burning agony stole all breath from his body; all he could manage were weak gasps.

Aragorn knelt at his side, grabbing his shoulders and forcing him to look at him. "Elrohir, please, what is happening?!" he cried. "Elrohir?!" His brother's face had gone white; his eyes were wide and unseeing and his mouth moved to form words that wouldn't come except in a rasping whisper, if that.

"El... Elladan... _Dartho- dartho!_"

"What is he saying?" Theoden demanded, beginning to grow alarmed.

"Hold on," Legolas translated, sharing a grim look with the king.

An abrupt scream shattered the quiet and resonated at ear-shattering volume around the room as Elrohir felt the blade the Uruk-hai had used on his sibling twist violently in the wound. Out in the hornburg it was heard, and the people stood still, silenced by the unearthly cry that pierced their already desperate souls. It echoed out over field and mountain, in cave and keep, through the very heart of the earth.

The ranger watched helplessly as Elrohir released his suffering with his voice, emitting a loud, long, keening wail until his lungs were emptied again. He opened watering eyes just long enough to see his little brother hovering over him, and then the pain took him completely.

"Legolas, get my bag of herbs and meet me in the glittering caves," the ranger ordered sharply, his tone rough and terse. "Now!"

Without another word he slipped one hand under Elrohir's legs and another around his shoulders and swept the elf up into his arms, rushing toward the doors.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

~0~


	2. Chapter 2: Falling Into Shadow

Wow! Thanks for all the reviews you guys! (snnfl) You like me! You really like me! (bawls)

Zammy - Wow, a double whammy! Sorry about the false updates, I really haven't had much time... But you rawk! You fed the review monster, and now look what you get - A CHAPTER! WAH!  
Lysan - Ohh yes, muahahahahaaah... Plenty of situations for our dear characters. Does this count as 'soon'? I'm sorry. I know I suck. I read a bunch of other fics that are in progress right now and I know how AGONIZINGLY painful it is to wait on cliffhangers.  
grumpy - Nice name! Yes, not a good time to get captured, God knows what the authoress will do next! (lightening crashes) I'm so glad you liked it, I know I'm no Cassia, Deana, Nili, M.N. Theis or Nightwing6, but I'll try.  
shadowfaxgal7 - Hey, you rock too! I read some of your stuff, you are awesome! I'll see if I can review sometime, I reely hate my lack of time on 'Amazingly'? I'm on your updates list?! WOW! I DON'T SUCK! WAHAHA! Ahem.  
Joee 1 - Oh, thank you so much. Yes, I hate school... I even have to do summer 'cause of procrastination in homeschooling, but I will keep writing DARN IT! Grrrrrr... Oh, and yes, keep reviewing to keep me motivated... I'll try not to give up on the story but it's hard if you leave it sitting for a while.  
galadriel evenstar- Love the name. Thanks! I'm so glad you like it!

ON TO THE SHOW! ...Uh, FIC!

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

~0~

**Chapter Two: Falling Into Shadow**

~0~**  
**

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Thank you..."

"You're very welcome." Eowyn smiled as the tow-headed girl whispered her gratitude from under her mother's arm. Small, grimy hands fidgeted in the rough fabric of her newly acquired blanket, and her eyes were wide and glassy.

The sense of doom permeating the air was impossible to miss, hushed murmuring and whispers carrying throughout the caves as hundreds of women, children and a few incapacitated men tried to settle into the makeshift refuge up and down the rock hill. Water had been gathered and a fire was going on two of the clear, level spaces of ground. Supplies were packed against the stalagmites poking up from the floor, the mothers and children all finding different spaces to occupy between or on them.

A few women were comforting each other as they cried over their sons, their husbands, their fathers who had been taken to fight in a battle from which they would never return. Eowyn felt deeply for them, for she understood their pain. But she also felt a deep anger and regret that while these peasant women had never been able to join warriors in battle, she, a shield maiden, a woman whose existence was to aid and fight for her lord, also never had the satisfaction of assisting them.

It wasn't fair.

_I can fight as well as any of those men. Better than some_, she fumed silently. _Why can I never help them?_But as she looked wistfully upon the darkened faces of her people in the cave, the woman realized that she was indeed helping.

_Well_, she allowed,_ Lord Aragorn has asked me to do this, for my people and him. I will aid in any way I can_.

The golden haired maiden looked down at a child who was crying his eyes out in his mother's lap, fear keeping him quiet. Her heart softened. As she walked slowly over to the piles of cloth to distribute another blanket, a cry from the hall behind her made Eowyn freeze.

It sounded... horrible. The scream of someone journeying toward the Halls of Mandos.

Adrenaline surged through her. _Are the orcs attacking?! It is not yet dusk! _The women with children clutched them tightly to themselves, and the men who had been too wounded to fight looked up from their pallets, bodies taut with anticipation. Eowyn grabbed a sword lying close on the path and stalked toward the opening, tension rippling her muscles as she prepared for whatever battle could be coming, her heart pounding in her chest.

Every villager had heard the bone-chilling yell that echoed down the rock, and all were readying themselves in fear. Some of the wounded men were trying to rise, and the women were in the first stages of panic.

"Are they here?!"

"Have they come already?"

"Move the children, quickly-"

"Get the swords! Move the women and children further down-"

A sudden yell stopped all conversation, and the crowds stopped dead. Another scream accompanied by loud moans came rolling across the stone, and it sounded as though someone was being attacked, murdered, or tortured. The Rohirrim guards who had been helping rushed to the entrance to see what was causing such earsplitting noise, but stopped as they were greeted there by a fair-haired elven warrior.

_Legolas._

The prince had his arms filled with a bundle of bedding, blankets and a few containers of herbs. His fair face was tight with worry as light blue eyes swept the cave, but he calmed the throng with a few soft words, his gentle tenor timber clear.

"The Uruks have not arrived," he assured them. "Do not be afraid. Please try to rest." The people relaxed marginally at that news; Families tried to return to their original spaces, closer to the entrance, and many eyes fixed on the archer as he stepped onto the path. The tumult died down to soft murmurs.

"My Lord Legolas?" Eowyn lowered her sword. "What has happened? What-" She was cut off as he sprinted toward an empty space he'd glimpsed with his keen eyesight half-way down the hill on level land, his long legs propelling him swiftly and silently around the humans. After reaching the spot he quickly spread a large, thick pallet across the ground. The eight women and children on either side of him watched in confusion and fascination as he worked, never having seen an elf before. He was too absorbed in his task to notice.

Eowyn knelt beside him as he began hastily laying out the other items. "My Lord, what is going on?" she asked sternly.

He looked up at her darkly, the blue eyes tinted with something akin to fear. "I need your help preparing the medicines," he murmured. "He will be here any moment." The elf put two bowls, three bags of herbs and a large pillow at the head of the pallet, followed by a large stack of bandages.

That caught her attention immediately.

"Legolas, what has happened? Who is coming?" Eowyn asked urgently, a slight fear creeping into her heart as he opened a small bottle and poured the liquid into a cloth. The look on the archer's face was scaring her more than anything else. She had never seen him this intense before, or this unsettled. Usually the elf prince stood in silence, an impassive expression on his face as he watched even the most dire events unfold.

But now, she could see it in his eyes.

He was afraid.

Before she could speak again, another loud, grating cry resounded across the cave.

"No!- no- _Saes!_ -Stop!- _saes_ - _Ai!_"

The screams began anew and Eowyn lifted her head just as Aragorn strode through the cave entrance carrying a bucking, writhing, green-clad figure in his arms. The man had dark almost black-brown hair that flowed smoothly down his shoulders, but it was mussed, covering his face due to his wild thrashing. The woman could see that Aragorn was struggling; he was barely able to restrain the wounded man as he fought to escape his prison, shouting incoherently.

His hands switched rapidly in their movement between wrapping his arms around his middle, fingers digging into the skin and cloth, and clutching fiercely at Aragorn's shirt, holding onto the ranger for dear life, trying to escape the breathtaking pain.

"Elladan-Estel!" he cried desperately. "_Ai_... Elladan-"

Eowyn could hear the fabric ripping under the strain of the man's hold, and worse were the piteous cries escaping his throat. _He is hysterical_, she thought. Fingers that were once pristine white became stained with deep red as blood welled from the part of his stomach he was clawing at.

"Aragorn, here!" Legolas called. He ran up to meet them, pulling the man's dark tresses away from his face and motioning them toward the pallet. The guards followed as he walked swiftly down the hill toward where Eowyn knelt. The shield maiden still could not see the stranger's face clearly, but Aragorn was quickly nearing her, trying to walk down the steep incline as fast as possible without stumbling and dropping his burden.

"Please, clear the way," he requested of the people crowding the path, his eyes pleading.

The guards were quick to reinforce their lord's wish. "Move! Everyone, give them some room!" One of the Rohirrim commanded.

"Out of the way! Hurry!"

"Let them through!"

Legolas walked at their side, and he spoke to the dark-haired man in a language Eowyn could not understand. She saw the blond elf reach for one of the stranger's hands and he gripped Legolas' in return, white knuckles shaking with exertion. At a few more words from the prince, the man stopped twisting in the Dunadan's arms and curled into himself, his other arm dug firmly into his abdomen, breathing deeply, the screams lessening into periodic moaning.

Aragorn was walking carefully down the steep hill, trying to go as quickly as this would allow him. Eowyn started to approach them, but as she stood suddenly another convulsion went through the strange man and he shouted again, kicking out his legs in response to the blinding burst of agony. The woman's eyes went wide.

"My Lord!"

The sudden blow caught the archer off guard and he fell backward onto the hard floor, knocking the wind out of him and bowling over one of the guards flanking the two men. Such was the Rohirrim's surprise that they could not manage to see let alone help as the Dunadan slipped on the slick rock and pitched headlong down the steep path, losing his balance from the abrupt lashing out of the man's powerful legs.

The elf looked up to see his friend fall forward into empty air.

"Aragorn!" he screamed.

"No!"

The shield maiden caught a glimpse of the ranger's shocked expression just before he pitched forward and swung his body around, twisting to shield his charge from the impact. Aragorn hit the stone backfirst, curling in around the wounded man and the pair rolled mercilessly downward for a good twenty meters. They showed no signs of slowing, the Dunedan's back making sickening cracking noises each time it connected with the hard rock.

There was screaming from the onlookers. Guards were running after them, but there was no way to stop them, the families below not having any idea what to do except attempt to move out of the path in fear.

"Look out!" Eowyn cried as they barrelled straight toward a large clutch of villagers trapped at the hill's base. Apprehension tightened her throat. There was nowhere left to move between the huge stalagmites caging them, and at the speed they were going the impact would be disastrous.

Aragorn, seeing the danger in a quick flash of vision and knowing what would happen if they didn't stop, braced himself, reached out and grabbed onto one of the large crates as it rushed by, catching hold of the wooden bars. He couldn't restrain himself from crying out in pain as he felt his arm wrench from its socket. The inertia swept them sideways across a scant sprinkling of hay and his back slammed into unforgiving rock as they were jerked out of their spin as suddenly as they'd begun. The Dunadan's skull cracked against stone and his vision went black.

Legolas ran at top speed down the incline to reach his friend's side, Eowyn following behind with her long hair, dress and sleeves fluttering in her wake. Panic seized his heart. The prince knew at that speed and with Elrohir's extra weight, (even as elven and therefore little as it was,) that accident could have been fatal. He quickly knelt down next to the man and checked to see if he was breathing.

"Aragorn," Legolas cried, placing one hand on the ranger's shoulder and the other on his forehead. "Aragorn, are you alright?"

He lay sprawled in the hay with one arm still wrapped around the stranger on his chest, who was curled into as much of a ball as his body permitted. The hand that had snagged the wooden bar was still latched onto it, the knuckles white as bone, refusing to let go. Aragorn's eyes were squeezed shut, his teeth clenched in pain and his shoulders still sloping inward to protect his burden, the shock of his impact still coursing through him.

Elrohir gave a slight moan, and some measure of feeling was restored to the Mirkwood elf's body.

_At least he still lives_.

"Estel," Legolas implored, his blue eyes searching for some sign of coherency, "Estel, _Im Legolas. Lasto nin, mellon nin!_Estel, it's Legolas. Listen to me, my friend!" The ranger groaned, stirring slightly.

"Estel? Can you hear me?"

"...I can," he murmured. The deep tone was barely audible. Dark lashes and pale lids parted to reveal silver-blue eyes clouded with pain, and he looked up into Legolas' relieved face. The Dunadan moved sluggishly to sit upright, but fell back again with a loud gasp, his vision flashing with white as his arm protested sharply. His shoulder and collar bone were on fire.

"Easy! _Sidh, mellon nin_. Peace, my friend," Legolas instructed him gently. His eyes were piercing in their intensity. "Can you release him?"

Aragorn complied, removing his arm carefully, and the prince bore the injured elf away to one of the Rohirrim sentinels, ordering him to be taken back up the hill to the bedding that had been set up. At that statement the ranger abruptly grabbed Legolas' wrist.

"No," he shook his head, "it's too far. Don't want to risk it again." Legolas nodded and looked at Eowyn, who rose to retrieve them a few steps away.

"Is he alright?" Aragorn inquired, pale face creased with worry.

The prince smiled down at him. "He's as good as he was before you took your little trip."

The ranger grinned darkly, releasing his friend's wrist and swatting half-heartedly at his shoulder before grimacing. "I cannot let go," he told him painfully. "My... arm refuses to move-"

Legolas frowned, eyes drawn to the white, taut fingers still clutching the smooth wood that had stopped their fall. He leaned forward and gently prodded the Dunadan's shoulder, receiving a sharp, pained groan in response.

"It's dislocated," he sighed. Legolas gazed at his friend steadily, waiting for his approval. Aragorn nodded, his eyes saying clearly that he knew what had to be done, and he was ready. The trust between them ran deep, and it was not the first time he had needed such aid.

A group of Rohirrim children watched with wide eyes as the elven prince reached across the ranger's prone form, his knee holding him in place at the chest. With his hands he held the base of the arm just below where it connected with the shoulder and glanced over at his friend. A swift nod was all he got before Legolas pulled swiftly upward and snapped the bone back into place.

The action reverberated through Aragorn to his teeth and he couldn't suppress a loud gasp. The Dunadan's jaw locked and his body jerked involuntarily, his hand releasing the bar, and the convulsion raising him into a sitting position. The white that had flashed over his vision blinded him and a moment later he collapsed forward, reeling from the pain. Legolas moved quickly, catching the human in his arms and supporting him against his chest. The Dunadan breathing was heavy as he collected himself and blinked away the grey fog covering his eyes.

After a few moments of catching his breath he leaned away, shakily holding his upper arm as he sat up. "Thank you," he said dryly, a measure of discomfort finding its way into the ranger's tone. Legolas helped him to his feet and he turned away, walking unsteadily over to where his brother lay, trying to deal with the waves of pain rolling down his arm. He hissed as his back abruptly protested from the abuse it had received during the 'trip' down the hill.

Legolas caught his arm and helped him over the rest of the way. "You are welcome," he grinned.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Eowyn had rushed back from the upper level of the stone hill with the supplies that Legolas left, hurrying toward the flat base of the incline where she could lay the bedding. It didn't take long to reset everything back the way the elf had put it, but she had to walk much slower due to the liquid in the bowls. The lack of speed irritated her due to the gravity of the situation, but she took her time. With what was coming later she knew medicines and healing herbs would be precious.

Setting both containers back down, the shield maiden called for the injured man's newly-appointed guard. "Place him here," she told him, watching carefully and lifting the man's head as he was lowered onto the pallet.

A few seconds earlier he had gone limp with exhaustion, and now as she set him out across the bedding she could see he was really quite attractive. The pale features were finely chiselled, yet somehow very delicate with a quiet strength. That strength would hopefully become useful in his recovery. Eowyn moved the strands of hair from his face and suddenly caught sight of something poking up from beneath his dark locks. The tip of a pointed ear.

Her eyes widened slightly. He was an elf! She looked back down at the face in shock.

_One of the Firstborn... like the archer._

"Elrohir," came a voice from behind her.

Eowyn looked up, relieved to see Aragorn, followed closely by Legolas (and not looking too happy about it either), his gaze locked on the dark-haired elf, bright with anxiety. He moved slowly, as though it pained him to do so, and well it might as his back had been completely beaten by their roll down the solid rock. Carefully he knelt next to the elf, willing the pain away and placing a hand on his forehead.

"Elrohir, can you hear me?" he asked in elvish.

The twin moved slightly on the pallet. "Elladan," he moaned. "Estel, they have him... They have Elladan..." Elrohir convulsed, then sagged back against the pillow. "_Ai_..."

"My lord, what ails him?" Eowyn questioned. "How did he receive that wound?"

"Orcs," he said brusquely. "He was wounded on the journey to the Deep." Aragorn crushed some dried leaves into the smaller bowl that contained water and mixed it with a finger, Legolas opening the dark-haired elf's tunic to better reach the wound. Upon reaching it, he drew back with a sharp intake of breath.

"Ai, Elbereth. Aragorn..."

The ranger looked up and any words he might have spoken died in his throat.

The gash was enormous.

Blood was sliding down the sides of Elrohir's torso, soaking the thick fabric and painting his hands crimson, and Aragorn was surprised he hadn't passed out already from the pain. The wound was made uncleanly by a blade, probably a scimitar, as the Dunadan could see the jagged shape that formed the cut. It must have been at least three or four inches deep and almost six inches long.

The ranger had seen orc-inflicted injuries before, and he knew that a lot of the time the foul creatures used poison-dipped weapons to ensure victory. Most people wouldn't survive a wound like this for more than a few hours.

_We must deal with this quickly._

"Legolas, hand me the cloths," he ordered, "and ready the bandages. I'll need the athelas."

The prince nodded and reached for the white swatches of cloth at Elrohir's head, securing the Noldor elf's hand within his own as his fingers searched the ground for release. His breathing was labored; he seemed to be struggling for air and his brow was drenched, eyes squeezed shut. Eowyn watched as they tended the elf's wound, praying for Aragorn and Legolas' sakes that the man would make it. But her experience was telling her otherwise as well.

"Elrohir?" Aragorn's soft voice shook her from her musings and shocked her with something she'd never expected to hear.

"Brother, if you can hear me, I need you to answer."

_Brother?_Her mouth opened, but she stopped at a glance from Legolas, his eyes clearly saying there would be an explanation later. The elf on the pallet moaned again, drawing their gaze and raising a hand to touch the ranger's.

"Estel?" he asked weakly.

"Yes, _gwador-nin_, I'm here. I need your help," he told him seriously, squeezing the slender fingers in his own. "Can you speak with Elladan for me? I need to ask him something." The ranger figured that if Elrohir was awake, then so was the other twin. Perhaps he could tell him if he smelled or felt any toxins in his system. Being the son of Elrond gave you a head start on the healing arts in itself, and the two brothers had definitely been in enough skirmishes with orcs to know.

"Elladan," Elrohir repeated blearily.

For the first time the elf's eyes opened, and Eowyn was mesmerized by the sparkling green-blue gems of the Noldor's eyes and his gentle, masculine voice, although strained with rapid breathing. He tilted his head up slightly to meet his younger brother's gaze. Aragorn put a hand behind his head to support him as he tried to speak.

"I can... feel him... He- he's so tired... I can do naught to-" Elrohir shuddered, and the ranger gently lowered his head back to the pillow. The elf's breathing was coming slower now, but no less heavy.

"I need you to ask him if the blade that caused this wound was poisoned," Aragorn said seriously.

The twin moaned again and breathed as deep as he was able, trying to relax and hear his brother's thoughts. He felt Elladan's fear and the scimitar as though it were still embedded in his flesh. Those sensations in themselves were doing a marvelous job of clouding his perception. "Elladan... Elladan?"

_El... Elrohir... They've followed me... I got out, but they... too quick_- Elrohir felt his brother wince, a sigh escaping him. _The blade broke in the wound... I- can't- I can't remove it-_

"AHH!" The dark-haired elf screamed with his twin as he felt something hard and unyielding inside his stomach move in the torn flesh. "_Daro_- Stop- Elladan!" he gasped. Aragorn leaped forward and took Elrohir's hands to steady him as he lashed out kicking, struggling in agony. The prodding stopped almost immediately and he fell back to the floor, raggedly gulping oxygen.

_AI- Well, that... did not help_, he heard Elladan mutter. Elrohir felt his brother flop down onto the cool stone floor.

"I concur," Elrohir muttered back, grimacing at the seizing in his abdomen. Aragorn and Legolas exchanged glances. Abruptly the Noldor remembered what he had been trying to ask, and he focused himself as much as the burning pain would allow. "Elladan... Estel... he wants to know if we've been poisoned."

_I cannot say... everything is clouded..._

"Well that... in itself might be an... indication, don't you think?"

_This hurts, all right? You... always get so grumpy when you're injured._

The dark-haired elf glared at the ceiling. "But _I'm_not the one injured!"

If the situation had been less dire, Aragorn would have put his face in his hands. They were arguing. _Wonderful_. Eowyn was giving Elrohir a look that clearly suggested she thought he had lost his mind. Not injured, after all that? What in Arda was he talking about? She decided he must be delirious.

_Oh, right... Eru, you're testy, gwanur._

"No I'm not..." Elrohir paused, listening. Then he growled. "_Elladan_..."

Aragorn looked blankly at the elf prince.

Legolas smirked slightly, looking back down at his friend's pale, soaked face. Aragorn was on his brother's right side while the prince knelt at his left, and each of them had one of the elf's hands in their own.

"Perhaps we should just let them go at it for a little while. T'will help take their minds off the pain," he whispered. They waited quietly and contentedly through the twins bickering as Elrohir's words echoed throughout the cave, which was actually quite amusing for some of the humans as well, due to the one-sided conversation: "That was _not_ my fault! I was not the one who suggested the spiders!"

After a few minutes the talking turned serious, and the Noldor elf poked and prodded his twin with questions Aragorn supplied, each one more strange than the last. Finally Elrohir stopped, too tired to carry on any more.

"We... don't know, Estel," Elrohir murmured, looking up at him with tired eyes, his face bright with perspiration. "We can't see properly and... the cave; it's an orc hole... everything smells."

Aragorn sighed deeply. "I don't want to say this, Elrohir, but if you two are poisoned, we will know soon. I'll need you to stay awake for me."

Elrohir sighed even more deeply. "I... thought as much."

~0~

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The evil authoress strikes again. I know the ending part was really out-of-character, but I'll try to stay serious for the majority of the time. Tell me if this sucked or not. 'Ta! Next time on: When Orcs Attack! (Sorry, yes, corny, had to do it)

Chapter 3: Elladan in the Orc holes! And hmm... poison? Maybe.  
Review and get moooo-oooore... I love blackmail.


	3. Chapter 3: Hope and Despair

Hah! Another success, according to the reviewers... Geez, you guys made me blush! See? (blush)

Responses to reviews:

Zammy - Ah, another faithful reviewer! I apologize for the late updates, but as I explained before... Or made an excuse of...  
shadowfaxgal7 - Me? As good as CASSIA?! (faints) (regains consciousness) Dude, you are so unbelievably flattering! (BLUSHBLUSHBLUSH) And yes! Curse you, Sean Penn! I should start an asassination club... You sound reely cool too! You wouldn't happen to live in Georgia would you? We could hang! Wahahahaaa. Fangirls of a feather flock together... Yes, swords do ROCK. I wanna find a place where I can do that style tho - PotC and LotR. Yeah, I liked the communication thing too... I meant for it to be funny. Was it? (frown) Oh yes, character torture... So fun! And don't worry, Leggy won't get off the hook... Hee hee hee... Actually I don't think anybody gets off the hook... And yes, easter egg, FUNNY! I so choked on the pillow I had jammed over my mouth to shut me up. AAAAAH?! BROKEN ANKLE?! How'd that happen?! I'm jealous. You'd probably get to spend that time reading.  
Legolas-Aragorn-r-hot - I think most of us wish we had your author's name. Thanks for the compliments! You reviewy, I writey!  
Isarandel - Thank you so much! I will!  
Whiteswan - Yes, I'm sorry, I am working on getting as much out as possible. There's limited space on the Simpletext program I'm using tho, so sorry about the shortness! Lemme know whatcha think!  
Bakabokken - Ya know, I think I've used your name as a curse during kendo class... X GO HOMESCHOOL! And yes I am still working on Heal, and Rended 2, but this is taking up some time too, so bear with me! I hate school. I'm a whole lot older than I think I am: SATs are June 5, and colleges need to be looked into, so... Hah! Yes, I am the All-Powerful-Authoress! FEAR ME LOTR CHARACTERS! MUAHAHAHAHAAH! Ahem. And yes, love elvish. You seem reely cool, e-mail me sometime! (Um, are you a guy or a girl? Couldn't tell by the name... Prob'ly fangirl right?) And yes, I am also hooked on my own stories. How does that work? I always write what I like to see. Torture: (insert evil laugh here)  
Shaolin 10- Hey, you know me! I know you too, you reviewed me a whole lot! ARIGATOU YO! You rawk. Here's more! And the answer to your question is in Bakabokken's answer.

At some point I may have to stop replying to reviews to make room for more chapter space, so look out. Just a warning! I will thank you all at the end of the fic though. (Theme music plays)

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

~0~

**Chapter Three: Hope and Despair**

~0~

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Elladan rested his head against the cool stone of the cave wall. His sweat was making the dark stone slick, and one hand rested gently on his abdomen near the injury. His attempt to remove the metal was not one of his better ideas, that much was certain. Now the blade was moving painfully in his stomach; he could feel its sharp edge digging into the ragged mouth of the wound. The elf felt nausea take hold of him again, and he shifted uneasily against the steep wall.

_I need to keep moving. They follow me still._

Elladan shook his head gently, removing the dark hair from his already obscured vision. The elf knew if he passed out he was doomed; the Uruk-hai would overtake him and that would be the end of that. He had lost too much blood and it was making him dizzy.

Suddenly he was aware of sounds resonating nearby. The thought of having to fight all those huge creatures again snapped him out of his stupor as a growl echoed from the passageway he had recently ducked out of. More and more became audible as the lumbering creatures approached, and the elf could make out a conversation.

Of sorts.

"...I say...eat it! We ain't 'ad ...worth crunchin' since we lef' Saruman's 'oles!"

"I's the leader here!" growled another deeper voice, growing nearer. "I says what we does with it!"

"Stinkin' elf," muttered yet another. "Makin' us hafta stay when the others have gon a'ead..."

Elladan's heart skipped a beat as he realized they must have sent a party of about thirty or forty Uruk-hai into the caves after him when he had bolted. Remembering the sheer numbers he had seen earlier, he knew that it had been no big loss to send that many either. To his dismay he hadn't killed more than two in his escape, and they were still on his trail.

And getting angrier.

"I call his 'ead," one insisted. He could hear the creature lick its slimy lips, purring with sickening apprehension.

"You'll not 'ave it, worm-sack, 'til I've had my fill of 'im! I owe that bloody thing for my 'and!" the leader snarled back, and there was a slight 'ding' as the beast slammed its stump of an arm against a metal-clad chest.

Make that one slain during the escape._ The sword must have caught on his armor. Thought it was his rib cage... Morgoth take it, _he cursed silently.

Elladan took a deep breath and tried to rise to his feet, using the wall as a support, but the blade in his stomach chose that moment to come slightly loose and it shifted painfully inside of him, digging into the corners of the wound. The grating of the iron ripped a sharp breath from him and he stuffed the side of his hand into his mouth to silence any screams. The pain radiated in nauseating waves and his vision darkened dangerously.

"'Ey, what was'at?"

The footsteps halted.

The Noldor's heart was pounding in his ears, filling his throat and cutting off any air as they listened carefully for him. He swore in silence as the sharp metal ground against a rib, and he bit deeply into his wrist as an alternative outlet for the pain. His teeth were drawing blood, but he was oblivious of the damage.

Despair filled him as he felt his control slipping. He had to remain quiet, just until they started moving again-

Suddenly a squeak broke through the quiet, accompanied by the skittering of tiny feet.

A loud smacking noise was heard as the lead Uruk struck the speaker. "You meat-'ead, tha's just a rat! Shut up and keep lookin'!"

Elladan's blood began circulating once more as relief and the clanking of metal armour allowed him to breathe somewhat. The passageway he'd used had almost been too small for him to squeeze into, but by turning himself sideways he had been able to enter it without aggravating the wound. He wouldn't be able to handle another encounter like the one before; that scimitar had nearly been his end. If the blade hadn't broken, the Uruk would have twisted further and skewered him, pinning him to the rock.

The Noldor listened, barely breathing as the slew of Uruks stomped away down the tunnel, past where he sat wedged in the small cave. He decided it was best to wait until they were out of hearing range, then try to move deeper into his newly found hiding place. It appeared as though this tunnel led a bit further out, perhaps to another opening. It was worth a try; at the moment he wasn't even four meters from where they were searching; he could see the torchlight as they trudged past.

After what seemed like a century, the dark creatures had finally disappeared down the tunnel, cursing and chastising the smaller Urk-hai roughly for the false alarm. Elladan allowed himself a small sigh, and dislodged his iron grip on his hand, letting his head rest against the rock. His vision was edged in black, and this time he allowed it to fade further.

His last thought made him smile sleepily.

_Thank Eru for rats..._

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Aragorn, hand me another bandage," Legolas said softly. "His wrist is bleeding."

Aragorn complied and went back to checking his brother's pulse and breathing. The bandages were piled near a water bowl, in which they had been wringing out the stained cloth. With the Uruks only hours away it had been decided that no more could be spared, so they had been reduced to washing out the cloths and drying them to be reused when needed. The water in the bowl had turned a bright red over the past hour. Estel was not at all comfortable with how much blood his older brother had lost, and they began feeding him warm water and teas laced with athelas to speed the healing.

After being sure Elrohir was stable enough to allow it, Aragorn glanced over at Legolas, who was wrapping his friend's left wrist. He raised an eyebrow.

"It looks as though it was bitten," the prince remarked. Aragorn leaned to look at the lacerations, brow furrowing at the lack of blood from the deep grooves. Legolas stared at them for a short while before circling the white cotton cloth around his hand.

Elrohir murmured incoherently. Aragorn had thought him to be asleep, but the elf must have been conserving his energy. He leaned closer to hear what he was saying.

"Had to... be quiet..."

The two friends realized what he was telling them and averted their gazes.

Estel clenched his jaw and ground down. It was maddening. His brother was right here, within his grasp, with medicines and healing aids in abundance and a wound that he would have known how to heal...

...if the wounded one had not been alone, trapped in a cave so many miles away.

"Aragorn, he needs more blood. His fingers grow too cold." Eowyn had sidled up next to her lord and was sitting next to him on her knees, watching their charge's still form. Her eyes were clouded with worry as she looked at the pale elf under the blanket, who seemed to be struggling with every breath. "Can it be done?" she questioned.

"The athelas will help with that," he assured her. "But the wound is bad. I know not how much it will take, or how long."

She nodded and said no more.

The three of them had been sitting together in silence for a long while, waiting for any symptoms of toxins to appear when the Noldor had begun seizing. They had thought Elrohir's attack earlier had been reactions to a poison, but according to his cries, Elladan had been trying to move again. It had been a while before he had calmed down enough to fall back into the depths of unconsciousness.

Right then the prince was tying off the bandage on his wrist, tearing the end with his teeth and saving the end of the white cloth for later. Elrohir's hand reached up and attached itself to his arm, making Legolas look down.

"Elrohir?"

"Legolas..._ mellon-nin_..."

"Shhh. Rest, _mellon_, you need to save your strength." Legolas lay a hand gently on his companion's forehead, trying to comfort him, feeling the heat that had been building there as his body fought off the recent invasion of foreign substances. He could only pray the wound wasn't poisoned and that their ministrations were carrying over to Elladan.

"Legolas," Aragorn addressed him, "stay with him. I will be back in just a moment, but I must speak with Theoden. I will see if there is anything we can do for them while he is stable."

The Mirkwood elf nodded as Aragorn knelt, putting his face into his foster brother's line of vision. "Elrohir? _Gwador?_" He was met with a soft moan. "I will return in a short while. I have some things I must attend to, but I will be back very soon."

A weak smile touched the twin's lips.

"Wouldn't... want to keep you from your duties... Go on and get out of here; you're mothering."

Estel laughed briefly, giving the prone elf's hand a squeeze. "But of course." His mirth fell away, and he suddenly bent down and enveloped Elrohir in a crushing embrace. The twin leaned his head against him, the smallest movement he could spare, and curled his fingers around the man's sleeve.

"I l-love you, little brother," he whispered, eyes fluttering closed.

The Dunadan smiled softly, remembering that moment so long ago as a child when he been told the same thing, Elrohir's strong grip pulling his small body from a drift of biting snow.

"And I love you, brother," he repeated the words Elrohir had given him that day.

With as much care as he could manage, he lay his body back on the soft bedding and put his hands by his side as he felt the elf drift into sleep. Eowyn and Legolas watched as the ranger stood, a grim determination setting into his gaze. "Inform me at once of any changes," he requested briefly, but not without compassion, before heading back to the entrance.

Legolas gave a small sigh and went to wet another cloth. Eowyn watched after him as the Dunadan disappeared through the hole in the rock, his cloak sweeping behind him.

_He was still walking a bit stiffly_, she thought. _I hope he is well._

"He is well," Legolas said, not looking up. "He has sustained worse wounds and survived. Besides," the elf gave a knowing grin, "he wouldn't rest even if we had the time."

Eowyn stared at the prince.

"No, I can't read minds," he assured her. "But I do know what it's like trying to worry about him. Nothing ever comes of it, and he refuses aid until he's nearly dead. Far too often if you ask me," Legolas muttered. "His ribs are a bit bruised, as well as his back, but it's his arm that really concerns me. He's been hiding it since his return, but I can see how much it pains him."

Eowyn gave the elf a look. "You have answered two of my questions without my saying them. Three, and I may not take you at your word, master elf."

He chuckled quietly. Elrohir caught the conversation and laughed gently as well, bringing their attention to him.

"I know," he murmured, smiling. "Father does that often... even to us."

"Well, while I thank you for comparing me to Lord Elrond, I will have to decline that compliment," Legolas raised an eyebrow, holding up a hand as though to ward off the statement. "I will never be anywhere close to how perceptive your father is, or as talented a healer. Although in your current state, one might welcome that talent, my friend."

"He'd... just be aggravated that he had to patch us up again," Elrohir's grin widened as he pictured the look on his father's face. He tried to frown deeply and did an uncanny imitation of Elrond in one of his more dour moods, although out of breath: "'I swear to the Valar, if you two have any more encounters like that again, I will... lock you up in Rivendell and... not release you until it is time for your journey to the Havens!'"

Eowyn's eyebrows went up and she let out a laugh. Legolas was suppressing a smile and failing miserably as he let out a loud snort.

"I do not believe he would take very kindly to that impression," the prince remarked. Then he lowered his voice, a small grin breaking through his attempts to decimate it. "However accurate it may have been..."

"You would know,"Elrohir grimaced. "You and Estel have gotten that speech from him as well. Many times."

"Yes, well," Legolas allowed, drawing himself up in a stately manner and trying to appear seriously concerned. "That was a long time ago. I have not gotten that speech since I was four-hundred and sixty." Eowyn's eyes widened, but she held her tongue, intrigued by the line of conversation. A few of the other nearby humans were starting to listen in as well. Usually the subject of an elf's age was never breached.

"It is not becoming of a crown prince to lie," Elrohir said dryly. "I remember you getting that lecture last autumn... And you are what, nearing your three thousandth year? A bit old to be getting involved in... 'dogpiles', as Estel called them."

"I happen to know that both you and Elladan got it a few years ago, and you're both my seniors. And that wasn't me, that was Estel!" He sounded offended.

"Estel wasn't the one whose... arm was practically bitten off."

"Well, how was I supposed to know that there were more than three?" the Mirkwood elf retorted somewhat sheepishly. "I am _not_ an expert on warg pack behaviour. And," he added, his growing indignation bringing an involuntary smile to Eowyn's face, "_he_ was the one whose leg nearly had to be removed. All I was told was it was to be a simple hunting trip." 'Although, coming from Strider, that should have been my first indication to decline the offer.'

"Who is Estel?" Eowyn asked, a bit embarrassedly. It didn't really seem right to break into the conversation.

"'Estel.' It means hope," Elrohir explained. "T'was the name my father gave Aragorn as a child."

The shield maiden stared, then broke into a grin. She cocked a disbelieving eyebrow.

"Lord Aragorn referred to a warg attack as a _dogpile_?"

"Yes," Legolas said irritably. "And usually, it was entirely his fault we got into those messes."

"Really? I can name more tales that did not involve him, my prince. Shall I elaborate on a certain..." he coughed pointedly, "...cave expedition about half a century ago? And perhaps your father's response to your return?"

Legolas looked a bit pale. "Lady Eowyn, the patient appears to be tired. I believe he needs more sleeping draughts."

A few of the people around them laughed heartily, including the children. Eowyn smiled as well, looking about at the grinning women ang giggling youths. The lightened mood brought on by the two elves' fun and mockery was slowly helping to clear away the darkness hanging overhead. The shield maiden hoped it would last; her people needed all the cheer they could get before the storm of Uruks came down upon them.

Unfortunately, it didn't stay long.

Elrohir tried to chuckle and abruptly choked on blood, which came forth from his lips like rain. The laughter and jovial mood of the humans was crushed by a sudden strangled cry from the dark-haired elf.

"Elrohir?!" Legolas leapt forward to aid his friend, holding him up as he worked the liquid from his airway, coughing heavily and painfully from the jolting of the angry wound. A low moan escaped him and he gripped the prince's wrists so tightly the nails drew blood, knuckles white with unbearable strain. Eowyn quickly went for the athelas and herbs lying nearby, preparing the medicines for use. The Mirkwood elf stayed with him, encouraging him softly in the Grey tongue.

"Elrohir... hold on, it will pass... It will pass, just breathe, slowly... that's it, my friend..." Legolas held Elrohir in his arms, clutching him fiercely as another agonizing fit of convulsions swept him, rocking his body.

"Elbereth help us," Eowyn heard the Mirkwood elf whisper. The prince could only watch as his friend struggled, feeling more helpless than he had ever fathomed possible. With no comfort able to reach the ailing Noldor, the only thing he could think was to pray it would be over soon.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The king's tone was rough, but pitying.

"Will he live?"

Aragorn was silent for a long while. "...I do not know, my lord. It was a direct blow to his stomach, and the blade went deep. The real trouble is that I cannot get to Elladan to heal him, and as he is the cause of the wound..."

Theoden sighed. It appeared as though another innocent... no, two more innocents would fall victim to the evils of the white wizard. As would his people were nothing done. For now, there was but the very sure knowledge that they would probably not last the night.

"I would request your help readying the men, but..."

The ranger nodded. "I will go to the armoury."

"What about Elrond's son?" the king asked reluctantly.

"Legolas and Eowyn are looking after Elrohir. They will tend him until my return."

King Theoden accepted this. "Go then," he relented. "I will see you at the head of the line." Aragorn's eyes burned a clear grey-blue as he met those of the king. The knowledge of what would probably happen before the night was over was understood, and slowly becoming accepted, he could see, in Theoden's tired gaze. But the king also caught was lay in the Dunadan's open stare as they regarded each other:

_I will aid you as long as I can; I swear to my last._

Finally Theoden waved him away, and the ranger bowed, touching his fingertips to his forehead, and excused himself from the throne room without another word.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The armoury was as to be expected. There was a shortage of men, and who they did have were a very motley crew. The younger boys had never even trained for battle, and the old men were so far out of practice they were more a hindrance than a help. Aragorn's heart ached as he watched them try to prepare as seaside dwellers for an inevitable tidal wave. He had been in battles with similar odds, and while he had survived and come out whole, (in a manner of speaking,) the horror of what fates had befallen his comrades was not something he wished to recall. It had been years since those battles.

But then there had been Boromir...

He sighed quietly and went to inspect the weapons, checking a rusty blade for weaknesses. He looked up as small boy who only came up to the ranger's elbow squeaked an "excuse me", brushing past him to join the line where the blades were being handed out. He was at least three heads shorter than all the others in the line. It was almost unbearable.

"Oi, lad!"

Aragorn looked up to see Gimli trudging towards him from the chainmail stores of the armoury, a mail shirt dragging from one hand and his axe hoisted in the other. The short being didn't look rattled in the least, and silently he applauded the dwarf for the deliberately obvious show of confidence.

"Master dwarf. I apologize for my disappearance," he said softly, greeting him with a smile that did not reach his eyes.

"I saw the man who came today. Or elf, rather," Gimli stated in his usual gruff timber. "I also heard what happened. Are you well?"

"As well as can be expected," the Dunadan smiled mischieviously. "It was a long trip."

The dwarf smiled amusedly, as though picturing the scene. Soon though, he was looking at the men who surrounded them as they came to gather swords and shields and armor. The two watched for a while in silence, the only sounds being the shuffling of feet and the occasional clang of metal against metal. Gimli stepped forward and leaned against the box of swords, leaning forward over his axe.

Aragorn took this as the end of their conversation and returned his attention to the sword in his hand. He deemed it unfit, and let it drop back with the others. The ranger could feel hope slipping from his grasp as though coated in butter. The situation at hand, his brothers' possible demise, everything that had happened and could yet happen, even after tonight... it became too much to hold within him. The Dunadan felt himself say it before realizing he had done so.

"Farmers, ferriers, stable boys..." Aragorn shook his head slightly. "These are no soldiers," he murmured.

"Most have seen too many winters," Gimli agreed.

"Or too few," a voice said from one corner of the room. Aragorn looked to the corner to see Legolas approaching, his bow strapped across his back, cloak pinned firmly around his broad shoulders. His eyes were dull and dark, and Aragorn could see the blackness of desperation was slowly reaching him as well.

"Look at them," he almost spat. "They're frightened. I can see it in their eyes."

At these words the entire gathering of Rohirrim turned to look at him, blankness, accusation and guilt in their stares. Aragorn looked at the elf in surprise. His friend was never so blunt as to directly address such a thing, especially not in front of the said people. Legolas merely turned away, continuing in elvish what should not be heard by the humans.

"As well they should be." The prince turned and faced his friend, his eyes questioning and almost angry. "Three hundred... against ten thousand?"

The Dunadan tried to placate him and himself; trying to rid them both of the horrible doubt and despair. "They have a better chance here than at Edoras," he tried to offer.

"Aragorn," the prince silenced him with his tone, voicing what he knew the ranger must already see. "They cannot win this fight." His expression hardened. "They are all going to die!"

The Westron exploded from him and he was stepping forward before he realized it.

"_Then I shall die as one of them!_"

Darkness enveloped the Dunadan, making his heart burn painfully, angrily as his resolve was stated. The words rang out through the room, falling as heavily as they been uttered. Aragorn's gaze was uncharacteristically cold and challenging as he faced his friend. The elf looked slightly abashed, but understanding and regret began to trickle into his expression, and he remained steadily watching the man.

The momentary lapse registered, and the ranger turned his gaze to the floor as he weighed exactly what he had just admitted. Silence was back with a vengeance, and it became too heavy for him. Aragorn turned on his heel and stormed out of the doors to find solitude, leaving elf and dwarf with the humans.

Gnawing guilt overtook the prince, and he knew he could not leave his comrade as he was. "Aragorn!" he called, following after him.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Atop the empty staircase he found nothing but rushing soldiers and fading light as the sun died, burying itself beneath a grave of black horizon. The light would most likely ne'er be seen after this day, and it was pressing in palpably on the Rohirrim. The prince could feel it in each spirit as he passed, and it was the absence of this weight along with the presence of another subtly-differing burden that informed him of the Dunadan's location.

Legolas' footsteps were silent as he descended the staircase to where his friend sat. Again he was sensed as soon as he approached.

"_Gohena-nin_," was the soft request. "I am weary, _mellon-nin_. I have wronged you, and those men..."

"Nay, Estel, it is I who should be begging your forgiveness," the prince replied, a deep sadness taking over his light tenor tones. "I had-" He paused for a long while before speaking again. "Elrohir was weakened by another attack. I am truly beginning to fear for him."

Aragorn's features hardened with concern, and he looked up into his friend's eyes with growing worry. "How is he?"

"He is stable," Legolas told him gently, "but for how long, I do not know."

The ranger sighed inaudibly. "I must return to him. The only way we will truly be able to aid them is to find Elladan, but... for now we can spare no one, and time is running short. We would only meet them unprotected should we ride now." Aragorn squinted into the clouds from his seat on the stone steps. "We still have about four or five hours before they come. Perhaps we can keep him alive until then."

"And what of when they arrive?"

"...I do not know, mellon nin." A horrible helplessness entered the man's eyes. "I do not know."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

~0~

Whoo! Okay, it's officially 1:13 AM, I've been working on this all day, I'm posting. Please tell me whatcha think! You feed plot-bunny with nummy reviews, I write more stuff! 

Nope, no poison... yet. Evil fangirls will rule the world. (P.S.: Last night I saw Van Helsing- TOTAL MUST-SEE! It was so much fun. Go now if you know what's good for ya! Go Hugh Jackman! And FARAMIR! WHOA! Totally different!)


	4. Chapter 4: Cry for Help

One word: TROY. Two words: Orlando rocked. The innocent, inexperienced, pitiful, ADORABLE little brother thing was so CUTE! (Not to mention different from the other roles...) Did anyone else get the urge to 'awww' and cry in sympathy when Paris dragged himself to Hector and clung to his leg?

Oh, and PLEASE make sure you read the real Iliad. We analysed that book from top to bottom and back again in World Lit, so it was very frustrating: on one level, I hated what they'd done, but on another, I still loved the movie! They screwed the plot up UNBELIEVABLY bad and didn't portray the characters in... well, character. The motivations and personalities were completely different. Ugh. All in all, by itself though? GREAT MOVIE. I've seen it twice in three days.

Now, I am sure we all agree: DEATH TO THE QUICK-CHECK REVISING THINGIE. IT DELETES EVERYTHING IN MY SIMPLETEXT PROGRAM. No italics, no bold, no stars- WAHH! I agree with Nili. I want my stars back, and I don't care if I'm whining like a two-year-old. And I HAVE A NEW BEST FRIEND! Bakabokken, you rock. YOU ARE ME. I SWEAR! We talked for like two hours on the phone, it's a dratted shame we don't live in the same STATE!

Warning: Yes, I made up the names of the new characters. No, none of them are Mary Sues. If someone out there is fluent enough in Elvish or Old English to see that I accidentally named someone "Duck Poop" or " Garbage Disposal", please do us all a favor and tell me, hm? I'll see if I have room for review responses at the end of the chappie.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

~0~

**Chapter Four: Cry for Help**

~0~

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

She still couldn't believe it.

It was almost as though she were in the midst of a dream, a very cruel dream from which she fully expected to awake at any moment. The soldier had pulled her from Gaered's side and forced her to return to the cave from whence they'd come. Her husband had looked at her as he was led away, and in that moment, from the very second his eyes fixed upon her with that knowing, loving stare, she had been trapped in a horrible nightmare that was manifesting harshly before her mind's eye.

A nightmare in the form of her spouse's mangled body.

"Erhia, please, try and take some water, will you?" The younger woman next to her had stopped encouraging the now sleeping pair of children in her lap, and held out a small skin flask to the lone wife. "You'll pass out if you don't drink."

Erhia's eyes were vacantly focused on her shoes as she sat crosslegged on the floor. The ragged blanket around her shoulders matched her clothing perfectly, and the shoes were the only thing different enough to look at. They were made of a soft, light-coloured leather and were tied on at the ankle. It was that tie that her fingers discovered, and the ends of the hemp were frayed from fiddling with it for so long. Her hand never wavered, and the proffered flask was ignored.

The younger woman, Nella, sighed when she received no response.

"Erhia. He may yet return," Nella pleaded, pushing back a few strands of dirty-blond hair from the woman's solemn face as she searched it for comprehension, flipping away her own lighter tresses. "We don't know, we don't know anything. Gaered and Telen may yet return."

"...I had a vision, Nella." She looked up with dull eyes. "Our men were dead. All of them were dead. Their bodies were piled on the hornburg, and beyond the deeping wall." Erhia pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. "The only thing we can hope for now is that they defeat the Uruk-hai as well, or no one will survive."

A crying moan echoed from behind the stalagmites they'd tucked themselves in against. The woman nodded in the direction of the pained noise.

"It has already begun."

Nella shuddered as she thought of when that dark-haired elf had first been brought to the glittering caves.

Those screams... from what she'd heard, he wouldn't last much longer. It was truly terrible to see one of the legendary beings in such dire straits; the masculine, strangled cries from the Firstborn as his friend had held him were still reverberating in her memory.

Fear thrilled mercilessly down her spine. That could be her husband in only a few hours.

Another shout for more water came from their Lady Eowyn, and they looked up with pity in their eyes. "I do not believe I have ever seen a man survive a wound like that," Nella murmured. "I feel for both of those elves." The blond elf had left a few minutes ago, promising to return quickly.

Erhia said nothing, but stared in the direction of the fallen Firstborn. She did indeed lament his distress. The numbness that had overtaken her was slowly melting away with each sigh that the elf gave, and over the past few hours he'd been there, she realized more and more how much his plight was reaching her. A groan that was almost a sob proved to be her undoing.

Before the other woman could say anything, Erhia had risen and walked to the edge of the stalagmite wall, peering out from behind the pillar of rock.

He was truly a mess.

The Noldor elf's face was white as a sheet, the heavy perspiration giving it a sheen like that of newly-fallen snow. His hair was stuck to the sides of his face, soaked with sweat and tangled under him in a small pool of dark tresses. The bandages and bowl filled with what was once water were now dyed a dark red, and the coppery tang of blood flooded the air.

The elf's well-defined muscles, while visible, were not as noticeable now as the slightness of his frame, which gave the impression of extreme fragility. It seemed as though he were capable of shattering at any moment. His bare chest was heaving with strained, wheezing gasps that he tried in vain to suppress, and the lower part of his torso was swathed heavily in bandages. Even so, the stain of crimson was growing larger as his body tried to send life fluids to the rest of him.

Erhia's heart ached in a desire to soothe the young-looking elf as another gasping groan was released from his lips. Lady Eowyn whispered tenderly to him as she held his arm, trying to calm the dark-haired being as much as possible while she lifted the dressings to apply more herbs. He flinched and pulled into himself slightly, refusing to react verbally as the cloth was peeled from the mouth of the wound.

Eowyn reassured him softly, reaching for more of the crushed, dried plants to sprinkle over his torn flesh. But she started and stared in surprise as her hand met only the smooth clay bottom of the bowl.

They had run out of the healing herbs.

Eowyn cried out in shock and dismay as she searched around her for more of the clotting weed, only to find bare ground.

_No, no, no, no, NO, _she screamed mentally.

That couldn't be all they had left. If they didn't find more soon the effects of the plant would wane, and that would not be pleasant for anyone, least of all Elrohir, considering how badly he was reacting even with the medicine. She whipped her head 'round and yelled to the first person she laid eyes on.

"You there! Keep watch over him 'till I return!"

The wide-eyed stare the woman gave her was just comprehending enough for the shield maiden to chance leaving them.

_I will try and find Lord Aragorn; perhaps he has more on his person,_she thought, her mind racing. Eowyn tore up the passageway in a flurry of golden hair and flowing robes, leaving the bewildered Rohirrim woman standing frozen behind her.

Erhia gaped in shock at the task she had just been assigned. How was she to comfort an elf? The woman had never been trained in healing an injury as severe as this. What would she do if he began seizing again? The thought left her mouth dry and her insides writhing.

_It is well, I can handle this_, she told herself, not really believing it. Abruptly the pleading in her lady's eyes came back to her, and the woman stepped forward to the edge of the pallet.

The weakened elf hadn't moved, and now he was drawing half-hearted breaths that rasped in the heavy silence. Erhia knelt carefully by his side and sat down on her legs. She cleared her throat uncomfortably, and waited for acknowledgement. For a long while he remained as he was, but then he took a slightly larger breath, trying to fill his lungs as completely as they allowed, and his chest spasmed sharply. He gasped as agony flared in his ribcage.

"_E-Eowyn... _Eowyn?" The Noldor swallowed, turning his head to the side. His watering eyes searched for hers.

"Um. No, I- I am Erhia. Lady Eowyn has gone to fetch more herbs."

"Oh... forgive me... I cannot s-see very well..."

There was quiet once more, broken only by the wounded elf's attempts to calm himself. He failed. "I- thank you for you kindness, Lady Erhia," he managed. "I did not wish to be such a burden..."

That remark left her confused. He had traveled long miles to aid a people not his own, battled an army of Uruk-hai, was now sorely wounded-perhaps dying-and he was apologizing for his inconvenience? This would never do. A soft nudge from her sense of justice gave her enough confidence to refute the elf's words.

"Nay, my lord. You are hardly a burden," Erhia assured him, placing her hand on his. "I am as honoured as any of us to have you here. You fought to rescue us from shadow; none can be held accountable for that."

A weak grin. "You merit your people with your words... It is good I have one so kind and fair beside me," he remarked, a slight twinkle in his eye telling of his mirth as she blushed.

Erhia used a wayward strand of hair in her face as an excuse to look away from the dark-haired elf's penetrating gaze and cleared her throat. "You really must not be able to see very well," she said dryly.

The Noldor let out a quiet laugh, but paused when the pounding in his ears returned. He laid his head back and attempted to steady the shaky rattle deep in his lungs. His head felt as if it would split, and his eyes burned fiercely with the heat emanating from his body. If he had been more lucid, he would have recognized the slow burn of poison behind it.

The woman stayed with her hand cooling his for a long moment before suddenly realizing something.

"Um, I am sorry, but... I really don't know your name," she mumbled, her cheeks still flushed with embarrassment.

He smiled softly, swallowing again to rid his mouth of a bitter taste that was building there. "Forgive me. My name is Elrohir, son of Elrond Half-Elven of Rivendell," he said, introducing himself formally.

"It is good to make your acquaintance," she nodded back.

"_Nn_..." His grin vanished and his fingers dug into the earth beneath him. A gravelly tone that sounded like a reaction to pain made its way up out of his throat, and he cried out again, unable to silence himself.

Erhia laid her hands on his shoulders to steady him, her eyes wide with fear.

"My Lord Elrohir?!"

He couldn't answer except to clutch at her hands, his body quivering under the strain. She held them back, giving him the comfort of at least feeling another's presence. The elf's eyes were watering so badly that he cried, tears streaming, pelting down his cheeks, and he tossed his head back and forth in weak thrashing. His legs moved only slightly, his energy all but spent.

Finally he looked up into her eyes, or so Erhia thought.

"El-Elladan- what-what is happening to us...?" he moaned, tears still running down his face, unnoticed.

_Us?_ Erhia's heart clenched. He was hallucinating. _What can I do?_

"Nella, help!" she yelled.

A few of the other Rohirrim had already risen to aid the helpless woman as she knelt by the Firstborn's side, and two of the women, wives already bereft of their husbands and children, came to stand at her back. Seeing them approaching, Erhia asked the first woman to find their lady, and she nodded, running off to the keep. Erhia was grateful for the women's help with restraint, but nothing could be done. They could only watch and wait as the dark-haired elf rocked, shouted, and spoke wildly to himself, caught in fever's throes.

"Elladan- Elladan! I can't- What are they- what are they doing to you?! Elladan?!"

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"El, help me- They found- Elrohir, I can't run!"

The elf's pleas were useless; he knew it before he uttered them.

Elladan stared from the back wall with a fear that otherwise would never have shown in his gaze, had it not been for the disorienting weakness and unbelievable agony that was swallowing him whole. The ugly creatures advancing on him were made even more hideous by the swimming of his vision (or were they?) and the handless one was slowly striding forward to reach him, his height almost two full heads above his own.

A sudden cave-in had blocked off his escape into the deeper reaches of the tunnel and the extremely loud, echoing crack of the stone had alerted the returning Uruks. They had swiftly broken into the rock wall with clubs and axes, sneers and slimy grins peering in at him through the opening, and now their leader was approaching him, smiling with chipped, cracked, rotten teeth.

The expression borne by his scarred features chillingly bespoke what he was about to do.

A tear-streaked, grimy, frightened but beautiful face broke through Elladan's memory, her golden hair swirling around her as he carried her away from the darkness of the caves. His father's anguished features, a picture in his mind's eye of a sleek ship sailing away into the sun making his heart ache, the uncomprehending horror in his mother's eyes when he had first touched her after her captivity.

"N... Naneth," the twin murmured.

He remembered the grief painted plainly across his father's face and the years of mourning that had accompanied their mother's departure to the havens. If they died now from such as these, what would become of him?

Anger, deep and searing, flared to life in his breast. He glared bleakly at the dark beings as they snarled at him with menace in their eyes, brandishing their weapons and watching gleefully as their commander drew close.

"No..." he muttered, his voice rising. "No. You... won't take me... I won't - LET YOU TAKE ME!"

With a growl that escalated into a scream he rose and tackled the huge beast, knocking him to the ground with sheer force and drawing his sword atop the creature's body. He swung his blade downward in a short, swift arc for the Uruk's neck-

-only to be caught by a dirty, gnarled hand.

The Uruk-hai grinned his pleasure at having his victim trapped and helpless as Elladan glared down at him with all the fury of hell, unable to move due to the creature's handless arm wrapped around his waist. The thing smirked nastily and squeezed him against the metal armour over his broad chest, making the blade still stuck in his gut push painfully deeper, and he smirked with narrowed yellow eyes at his prey's anguished shrieking.

The dark being laughed throatily as the elf struggled violently to be released, screaming at the top of his lungs, pushing against him with his hands. Finally, the Noldor collapsed against him amid the gleeful growls and howls of the other Uruk-hai, his body radiating with searing pain. But the lead Uruk wasn't satisfied yet.

Grabbing the collar of his tunic, he threw Elladan across the room to roughly hit the floor and slide, a ringing clatter resounding as the Noldor's newly-freed sword tumbled away into the darkness. Elladan couldn't move except to breathe, and even that proved to be a great challenge. He coughed up blood onto his tunic as he lay on his back, fully and horribly prone.

"I think you owes me a new 'and, elf," the Uruk spat. "But seein' as you're feelin' so rebellious, I think we need a bigger lesson." With a feral smile, he reached down and pulled the helpless being up by his left arm, hauling him to his feet and suspending him in the air.

Elladan moaned, feeling ill as he felt the rusted metal in his stomach grinding against bone once more. He opened glazed eyes to meet the creature's burning ones, and realized what he was going to do a split second before it began.

The elf could only look on in horror as the grip on his wrist began to tighten. He heard the snap of bone and felt the muscles of his forearm convulsing as his wrist was crushed under the foul creature's hand.

White flashes were overtaking his vision and he no longer knew whether he screamed or lay silent as the monster abruptly dropped him, his head cracking sharply against the ground as he fell. He came to his senses, only to feel the strong hand pick him up again, drop him, and this time place itself on his forearm, pinning it between his foot and the ground.

A soft whimper was all he could manage before the lead Uruk-Hai roared and yanked sharply upward on the arm beneath him.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"_AAAAAAAHHH!_"

The cave was shaking with ear-splitting screams. Legolas' eardrums were ringing. If he hadn't known better he would've thought they were bleeding.

He and Aragorn had run into Eowyn on their way back to the cave entrance, and they had quickened their pace down the hall from retrieving an emergency supply of herbs in Legolas' travel pack. It would not be much, he knew, but every little bit helped. They had then been waylaid on the staircase by yet another woman, a Rohirrim widow who was very much out of breath.

"Erhia told me- to retrieve you, my lady," she gasped. "It's the elf- he-"

A heart-stopping shriek that sounded as close as an arm's length shook the passageway.

Elf and ranger did not even stop to look at each other, running at full speed down the stairs and into the passages.

When the pair reached the caves, they saw a group of women pressed in close around Elrohir at the bottom of the hill, fear on their faces as they tried to hold him down. The older twin was bucking and writhing like a headless serpent clinging to the last threads of life, and his limbs shook, his body contorted, crying out in mind-shattering agony.

"Move!" Aragorn skidded on his knees to his brother's pallet and reached for his arms. Legolas came pelting in beside him throwing his full weight on the Noldor's legs. Eowyn grabbed the discarded herbs and began wetting them for use, snatching a handful to place in the wound. But as she reached forward, the elf fought to escape his companions' hands, knocking her away.

"NO! _DARO- DARO!_ STOP!" He was screeching almost incoherently, switching from Sindarin to Westron and back again. "_SAES_- RELEASE ME!"

"Elrohir! Elrohir!" The ranger's cries went unheeded. Legolas reapplied his grip just in time to keep his friend's leg from flying out and catching Eowyn's head.

"Estel!" he shouted. "Take his legs! Put your weight on them and try to administer the athelas! I will talk to him! Just hurry!" The Dunadan nodded swiftly and leaped to trade places with the Mirkwood prince, who immediately snatched Elrohir's arms and held him almost immobile. Almost.

As he struggled against his tortured friend, Legolas yelled in Sindarin over the row. "_Mellon-nin, im Legolas! Tolo dan non galad! Dartho, dartha an nin! U-awartha i galad!_ My friend, it is Legolas! Come back to the light! Hold on, stay with me! Do not forsake the light!" His screaming did not abate and the twisting body did not still.

The prince turned his head and called to Aragorn. "Something is happening; I can feel a darker presence beneath his own."

"He must have been discovered," he cursed. "Hold him, I will bind the wound."

The dressing which had fallen away revealed the nasty swelling that had grown around the gash, and the bleeding had not slowed. That bothered him greatly_._

"Legolas, he has not stopped bleeding. It must be poison after all," he said tersely, not looking up, and he tucked the herbs gently into the wound. His spirit keened for his brother's pain, but now he had to work to save him, not comfort him. The twin probably would not have even registered any comfort given him.

A glaze of cloudy white was covering the bright blue eyes, and suddenly he went as limp as wet autumn leaves, the screaming ceasing into silence. For a moment the abrupt silence made their hearts stop.

"Elrohir?!" Aragorn cried, quickly crawling up to his head. His heart began beating once more as he saw his brother's chest rise and fall, hearing the weakening breaths. Legolas let out a breath, bowing his head tiredly. He looked into the Noldor's glassy, unseeing eyes and saw the pain and great fatigue that lay within. His strength was waning.

"Estel, we are losing him."

"No," the Dunadan denied vehemently. "He can still survive."

"How, Estel?" The elf's tone was not angry, nor was it challenging. It merely spoke of sadness at the truth he beheld. "How can we stop Saruman's minions from killing them?"

"I will go to the tunnels."

Legolas looked up quickly, shock written on his face. "...What? Estel-"

The ranger shook his head, frowning, and Eowyn averted her eyes. It felt as though she should not be witnessing this exchange and it made her shift uncomfortably.

"I will not stand by and watch this any longer. I cannot let them die!"

"Estel, do not be irrational," Legolas warned in Sindarin. "You would never make it in time. The majority of the Uruk-hai are fast approaching; you could not make it past them, let alone stop them from killing Elladan and Elrohir!"

"I will kill every last one of them myself!" he shouted back, eyes burning like blue fire-jewels. Even with the language switch it was obvious from his tone that the Dunadan was murderously angry at the state his foster brother was in. The women who had been hanging back shifted uneasily, not understanding the heated conversation.

"If you leave now, they will die." The blunt truth was spoken without the slightest feeling, the prince's eyes steady as he met Aragorn's gaze. He knew the ranger had seen this, but he felt the man needed to hear it now. "I know you want to save them, my friend, and it is maddening for me as well, but the best we can do now is stay and heal them." His gaze grew dark. "And pray."

The two men faced each other with challenge in their eyes, and for a long while no one dared to speak. Finally, Aragorn's eyes softened, a sigh escaped his parted lips, and he hung his head, long, dark auburn tresses hiding his features.

"I am sorry, my friend." The whispered elvish was filled with a kind of yearning sorrow. "I cannot lose them, I just cannot."

Legolas nodded, understanding, and quickly turned to Elrohir's newest injury. He took the arm gently in his hands, examining it.

"His wrist appears to be broken. If we-"

_CRACKKK!_

Without warning, the bare arm the prince held seemingly exploded, spraying his face with blood and making him flinch. Eowyn yelped in surprise and shock, Aragorn gasping sharply as tiny shards of bone flew by his face. Elrohir's eyes were screwed up tightly with tears leaking from beneath the lashes, his mouth open wide in a silent scream. The breath had been stolen from his body; venting his agony was no longer possible.

Legolas cried out in shock. "Aragorn!"

"Elrohir-"

The elf had arched his back and come completely off of the pallet, landing after a few moments with a heavy thump. The women watching behind them were holding each other, hands to mouths with tears running down their faces, and one of them with dirty blond hair was standing alone, her expression utterly horrified. Aragorn's mouth was dry, and he felt himself growing ill as he looked upon the bloody mess in front of him that was his sibling.

Elrohir's arm was shattered.

The bone was poking through the skin in two different places, and where it wasn't broken it was badly bruised. White bone protruded from his upper and lower arm and the elbow was nearly bent backwards as though a heavy weight had crushed it. Aragorn knew that this would be very difficult and very painful to set, if possible at all.

Legolas was looking very shaken, his face taut and pale. He looked over at the ranger, uncertainty colouring his gaze. "Estel... Is there any way we can..." he trailed off, not really knowing what he wanted to say. His friend's breathing had become rapid and very shallow, and his face had acquired a greyish cast.

In his head, Estel ran over the mental list of herbs and remedies his father had taught him when a warrior was injured. His were obviously severe compound fractures, but the stress had been oddly placed and had caused chips of the bone to become scattered. The Dunadan ordered Eowyn to prepare a set of bandages and a clean bowl of water, and she complied, albeit a bit nervously. The shock of seeing the wounded being's entire arm contort and practically burst hadn't left her a little unnerved.

Aragorn prepared a thick paste to spread over the wound as a bandage, and, after applying it, set about maneuvering the twisted limb back into its usual shape. His brow was beading with sweat as he began to slowly push the pieces of bone back into place, Legolas keeping it steady with a hand on either side, but it was as far as they got.

Elrohir yelped and his head snapped to the side, a great bruise beginning to form on his forehead. The Mirkwood prince stared down at the elf as he was forced the other way, his eye swelling shut, and as he watched the Noldor's lower lip split in two.

"Aragorn, they're beating him again," he said brusquely in elvish.

"No," the ranger whispered back, unknowingly shaking his head in despair. This couldn't happen, this couldn't- It wasn't right...

"Elladan... Elrohir, no," he begged them, taking his older brother's hands in his own. "Please, my brothers, you cannot leave me here. Not now." His voice cracked slightly and his tone softened. "I wasn't supposed to watch you die. It was you who were supposed to watch me, the mortal whose time had come, go forth to tread Halls of Mandos. That, or it was I who would watch you sail to the evergreen, undying Havens of the West..."

He choked on a sob, placing his sibling's hands against his forehead. His anguished plea was a mere breath.

"Valar, please..."

The twin's body shook violently with barely suppressed sobbing, possessed by the pain that was rocking him to the core. Aragorn was bent over him, unable to stop his weeping any longer. Legolas felt his heart break as they held each other, the man pulling Elrohir up into an embrace made iron strong by desperation.

As he watched, an idea sprang to his mind.

_That would work... I could-_

The initial joy at realizing what he could do was squashed by realization of the cost. Thinking of what he'd be doing left his insides knotted and his entire body shivering in fear. But the sons of Elrond were the closest beings to him in all Arda, and Estel: the king, the ranger, the young boy he had watched laugh and play and grow with the twins, the human companion who had practically been welded to his soul, would be completely and totally broken by this grief.

"_Ada_... Father, please," Elrohir gasped as the monsters in his vision reached for him again.

Elladan began screaming anew, his voice straining hoarsely as the Uruk-hai attacked, swarming around him. Their thoughts touched one last time before awareness was stolen from them, joining their minds and voices in an agonized cry for help and directing it at the only one who would be able to save them now.

"_**ADAAA!**_"

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Okay, yes. I am evil.

Not enough room for BIG review responses, but I'll give it a shot. Sorry this was so late, but I am still doing school and I wanted to make this as long as possible. I stopped it here for a good reason. There is a point I'm trying to get to, so...

Next, Chapter Five: Legolas makes an important, probably fatal decision, and Elrond gets a biiiiiiiiig migraine. Will they survive? WILL THEY ALL DIE?! Well... that depends on whether or not our dear authoress is PMSing or not at the last few chappies. AND... On how many reviews this gets...

There's still the actual battle at Helm's Deep to consider, after all...

'Ta! Review and get more! Don't... and this happens:

.


	5. Chapter 5: Sacrifice for Dying Faith

I TOOK MY FIRST S.A.T.! WAI! And hey, congratulate me! I just hit over 200 reviews for my nine-chapter Inuyasha fic! I am feeling very good about that last chapter, too. The lack of reviews is slightly discouraging, but not really. Because now, the authoress is going to take it up a notch... Muaaahahahah! They say a character death is the best way to get people out of the woodwork... I THINK I'LL TRY IT! Won't say who, though.

We're going to see Harry Potter 3 monday, Shrek 2 was hysterical and the music was actually decent! I was impressed. I have trouble keeping my thoughts together, so if I say I'm going to do something and don't, just don't freak out. If it's written a certain way, that's just where the flow of the writing led me.

Oh, and Cassia? If you're out there reading this, I did borrow one of your characters for point-two seconds. His name is Celboril; I didn't want to chance making up the name of any elf. Yet. So GOHENA-NIN?! I had to use him! I needed some servant to come and help!

Someone do us a favor and go assassinate the Quickedit program.

Jaa, Chapter 5! IS NO ONE SAFE FROM THE TORTURES OF FANFICTION AUTHORESSES?! Obviously not.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

~0~

**Chapter Five: Sacrifice for Dying Faith**

~0~**  
**

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Elrohir had been unresponsive for over an hour. His temperature alone was high enough to kill him; the poison was doing even more damage with the second. The lack of sound was almost as bad as the screams had been; Aragorn was fighting with every nerve not to reach out and shake the life back into his eyes, force him to open them.

The beating had gone on for an eternity, and all Aragorn, Eowyn and Legolas had been able to do was hold him while he wailed, convulsed, shivered, and jerked from the violent blows. He was a mass of bruises and cuts so thick it was impossible to distinguish one from the other on his body. The athelas and other herbs had long since run out. There was nothing left to be done.

Aragorn was sitting on his knees, staring with a blank, mask-like expression at the failing form of his older brother. It would not be long now.

All the while he had tried fervently to convince himself that they could still be saved, that at the last second Gandalf or one of the Rohirrim would find Elladan and rescue him, but that kind of thinking had faded hours ago. Now, there was only the hard truth of Elladan and Elrohir's approaching demise, and the army that would most likely be their deaths in a very short time. Outside it had long since turned black with night, no ray of light piercing the choking darkness. Hope was dying like the setting sun already had, never to resurface.

Estel's faith was waning fast to be replaced with prior field experience. From the earliest age, the Dunadan had never been one to lie about his feelings, and certainly not about the reality or severity of a situation; he was much too skilled a leader to support something as weak and foolish as that. At the moment, though, it was proving to be a devastating curse.

Guilt from a steadily bleeding heart welled painfully within him, repeating like a mantra in his mind. 'I should have been able to do something. I could have helped them fight, I could have saved them... I have to do something, I have to-

"N- Naneth..."

The whisper cracked, longing, almost silent, the white-blue lips barely moving.

The ranger buried his head in his hands.

Legolas had withdrawn into himself, sitting cross-legged with his arms wrapped around each other. Sweat dripping from his pale brow spoke of the toll of long hours binding his companion's gruesome wounds. His eyes were riveted on the Noldor, as though he were contemplating the impending loss. Eowyn was sitting quietly, wavy gold tresses hiding her features, not looking at him. She had obviously resigned herself to facing the facts as well: they were going to lose another kinsman. There was nothing more to be done.

A racking cough came from somewhere in the elf's chest, and he shuddered with the pain. "E... Est-"

Aragorn scooted forward and took him back into his arms; rocking him gently, careful of the splinted, cloth-wrapped arm. "I'm here, _gwador-nin_. I won't leave you." He would be with him. 'Until there was nothing left to-'

The man cut that off in mid-thought.

He caught sight of Legolas as he reached for another damp cloth for Elrohir's forehead. His friend still hadn't moved. Glancing over at him, with his long legs tucked up to his chin and both arms holding himself tightly, Aragorn realized he was growing worried for another reason. The look on the Mirkwood elf's face was almost frightening. It was the look of a man standing on the edge of a great abyss, into which he could and would fall purposefully at any second: a dark, knowing expression, as though preparing himself for a great and terrible burden.

His heart ached. The prince had known and lived with his brothers centuries more than he had. That would only have strengthened their feelings towards each other. He could only imagine what a horror this had been for him to witness, even as he had watched his companions die on many other fronts.

His expression also held a great sadness. Bright, intense eyes shadowed with emotion pierced the air between the two elves, and Estel could not help but shiver as he pondered, _Will the grief be too much for him to bear?_ Icy fear clawed at his throat.

_Valar... Elbereth, don't let me lose him too..._

"_A-_" The Dunadan looked down at a slight movement from the body in his arms. Elrohir's lips moved slowly, and he had to lean down to hear what the twin was murmuring under his weak breath.

"_A... A..da..._"

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The leather-bound book he'd been searching for was stuck up in the top corner of the bookcase. He couldn't remember putting it there, which led him to believe that Erestor must have reshelved it when he'd fallen asleep at the desk last night. He had been more than a little surprised that he'd managed to nod off there; it wasn't like him to be so inattentive.

The Lord of Imladris pulled himself up the ladder to the top of the ivory-coloured, intricately carved bookcase and pulled back the sleeve of his robes, reaching for the book. It was slightly heavy; he used one hand leaning on the shelf to keep it steady as he turned the pages, searching. His dark brown hair hung down his back like a sheet of silk, vibrant blue-green eyes and stern features sharp as he tried to focus on the contents of the tome.

Tried and failed.

In the back of his mind a shadow had been licking at his thoughts like the flame of a candle, pulling him down into a dark place that he had no wish to be a part of. The fading leaves of Rivendell and the increasingly cloudy grey sky had been all too obvious, and he knew more than even any other elf to what extent Middle-earth was being overtaken by the darkness. But it was not this darkness that was affecting him so. It was another, more immediate threat that tugged at his spirit.

Elrond shook his head slightly, sending a shimmer through the river of dark tresses. 'What is wrong with me?' The elf lord forced his eyes to the paper, reading carefully through the Quenyan paragraphs, trying to find-

_**AAAAAADDDDAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!**_

It hit him like a hammer.

A hammer held by a very large, very angry cave troll.

The intensity of the cry blacked out every thought, every sensation, as mentally blinding as an exploding sun. Dazzling white blanketed his eyes, and another sudden flash heralded a vision stronger than any he had ever experienced.

_Caves. Stalagmites and rocky walls. No sky visible. Pain! Uruk-hai and orcs, a large gathering of assailants hitting him, Estel, Prince Legolas, many humans, mourning. Pain! _

_PAIN!_

The oxygen was stolen from his lungs as crushing grief and unimaginable agony separated him momentarily from consciousness, cutting into him like a blade. When his eyes finally started working again he was lying sprawled on his back on the cold marble floor, unable to breathe or recall who or where he was. A pain in his head focused into five points where his fingers were clutching involuntarily, vice-like, and he gasped unsteadily for air.

That was how Celboril found him, in a twisted heap of robes with a hand to his forehead.

"Lord Elrond!" the blond servant cried, sounding very alarmed. There was a scuffle as he ran and knelt at his side. "My lord, what happened? Are you hurt?" he questioned, looking the elf lord over before gently attempting to pull him up. Elrond leaned heavily on the other elf in a sitting position, his breath coming a bit more regularly. His hands were shaking, one still refusing to relinquish its hold on his head.

"I... don't know... I fell off the ladder..."

"What happened?"

"There was... a call. Someone... my sons-"

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, calming his mind and ordering his thoughts properly. Elrond looked up at his servant and his gaze hardened. "They were calling for me. Something went wrong. One of them has been captured by the Uruk-hai."

Celboril's eyes widened and his breath caught.

Elrond grimly set his jaw. "If something is not done, they will die."

He weighed his options in his head, remembering the way the caves had looked and what information his son had sent him of their road to the stone prison. He could see no other way, and realized he would have had it no other way. He was one of the few healers talented enough to repair much of the damage that was even now being inflicted.

A spike of fear went through his heart. Eru knew what kind of things he had been unable to prevent.

Again.

Elrond's eyes narrowed dangerously. The Lord of Imladris would see the minions of the Dark Lord pay for his children's pain.

"...Ready my horse."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"No... N-NO!_ nn-NNNOOOOOOOOOO!_"

"Elrohir, _saes!_"

"Elrohir-!"

"STOP! STOP- PLEASE STOP-"

It was happening. The seizing had started anew, rousing him from shock, this time centered around the burning hole in his abdomen. He cried, screamed, cursed, but comparatively his limbs were still. The only movement he could manage now was breathing, and shouting. Sweat and tears ran down the exhausted body and terrified features as his head lolled back in the ranger's arms.

"Naneth- Ada!" he sobbed.

Aragorn could feel his strength draining, the deadly cold settling into the Noldor's tense, curled form, ebbing in his very hold-

"ELROHIR! You can't go, do you hear me?! YOU CANNOT GO! FIGHT! YOU MUST RESIST THE DARKNESS!"

The man's throat was raw; his pleas, his commands, mingled with the elf's tormented cries. The Dunadan hugged his brother's forehead to his, his own body trembling with the force of his conviction, his defiance, his sheer _will_ not to lose them-

"Elladan! Elrohir!"

A sudden shove sent him sprawling across the stone floor and into Eowyn as someone leapt forward and seized the wailing elf from his grasp. Aragorn felt the weight and warmth of his brother's fevered form leave his.

_No!_ He whipped his head up, leaning forward on his arms and staring up from the ground in shock.

Legolas.

The prince of Mirkwood had broken his paralysis and pulled the Noldor away from him, laying the twin flat on the blankets and taking his head in both hands. He leaned over him, paused, and looked back at Aragorn with a calm, resolved gaze, his golden hair falling messily about his shoulders. He shook his head gently, slowly, a sad acceptance engulfing his features.

"Forgive me, my friend," he murmured.

Eowyn was completely bewildered, her face slightly flushed, eyes not leaving Legolas' face as she bent to help her lord. What was the prince attempting? The Rohirrim grew uneasy, shifting away from them and taking the younger children further into their arms.

A flash of realization went through the ranger like lightning and he screamed for his friend as he lowered his head toward the elf on the pallet. He scrambled forward, forcing himself up on numb legs, vaulting upright-

Their foreheads touched.

The soft, blue-white glow around the prince intensified, swelling. A lone, relieved gasp went through the vacuum of sound and the people watched astounded as the glow vanished from Legolas, and poured itself into Elrohir.

"NO!"

Aragorn pounced on his friend's hunched shoulders, trying to pull him away, to sever the connection.

It was too late.

Even as he watched, Elrohir was pulling in breath after breath as though he had been drowning, his body limp with complete and utter relief. Estel looked on with mixed emotions as the inflamed red marks disappeared from his brother's person, fading into pure white skin. The mottled bruises darkened, then vanished, and the oddly angled arm bent slowly inward. But most heartening and heart-rending of all, the large gash dominating the smooth flesh of his belly gradually sealed up from the inside.

A different scream echoed from the walls and into the night, stronger, more piercing, making each heart stop with confusion and fear.

Legolas collapsed in a heap, hitting the floor with a smack and curling into himself in an attempt to stave off the burning waves of pain, his green cape crumpled in a mound beside him. All traces of the light had left him, and he was as mortal now as Aragorn was, perhaps more; the Dunadan could see that much just by glancing at him. He rolled him onto his back swiftly and saw with mounting terror that lacerations were appearing like pink scars under his skin.

"Oh Eru," he whispered. "Legolas-"

The blond elf let out another shout that flung his head backward before clamping his jaw shut against the shrieks welling in his chest. His hands dug painfully into the middle of his gut, and Aragorn whipped the green tunic away from his stomach to find blood pouring from a visibly deepening tear.

The ranger cried out in anguish, bracing his hands against the blood flow."No! LEGOLAS!"

_Ai, Elbereth- he had been planning this from the second he knew they were dying. Oh, Eru forgive me..._

"Legolas, you can't do this, you can't," the words tumbled over each other, "You cannot make them live with this- You cannot make me live with this!"

Eowyn had gone in a flash to the side of the dark-haired elf who lay drawing heavy breaths. She was shocked into silence and her mouth dropped open when he suddenly sat up on his elbows and turned toward where the two companions were trying to stifle the prince's bleeding.

His blue eyes went round and he gaped in terror and disbelief at the writhing outline of his friend.

"What... what have I..." he croaked. "Oh Eru..."

"Lord Elrohir?!" A blond ran to him from the gathering of Rohirrim women, throwing herself down next to him and holding onto his shoulders like an anchorage in the storm. "My lord Elrohir, you're- you're healed-" He stared back dazedly into Erhia's tear-filled eyes.

"I- I-" Elrohir choked, tears dripping from his eyes. "I have killed him- I have killed..."

With that, the dark-haired elf began crying so hard he could do nothing but lean into the secure embrace of the human woman kneeling beside him, sobbing that was now entirely from the pain of his heart muffled in her shoulder.

_Elladan... what can we do?!_

~0~_  
_

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

~0~

Well, yes, I did say I wasn't going to tell who died... but I never said I wouldn't make it easy to guess, now did I? (runs and hides) Want more? REVIEW!

I have gotten another chapter out despite school and GOD knows what else, and I need encouragement for the next post! I really don't know where I'm starting the next one! Hahahaaa...

o-o-oo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Review responses:

BakaBokken - YES! My first reviewer for that chappie! And am I surprised? NA! And hey, yes sneak peek for the last one, not for this! HA! Yes, I believe I truly am evil. Big ouchFUN! Aww, so sorry about homework... I feel your pain. And hmmm... don't let El/El die? Hmmm... might be doable! Now, Leggy on the other hand...

Lisseyelen aka Lady V - (blinks) (blinks again) OH. MY. GOD. I HAVE BEEN REVIEWED BY THE CREATOR OF ISENGARD'S CAPTIVES?! (faints) (gets up hours later) OH MY GOSH! I am SO HONORED BY YOUR PRESENCE! (Kow-tows and doesn't know how to spell it) Me?! Good grammar?! TRANSLATIONS?! WOMAN, I USED THE SONG YOU WROTE (You did write it right?) "Vanimle sila tiri", AND PUT IT TO THE TUNE OF BLACK BEAUTY BY DANNY ELFMAN! YOU MADE ME SOB! I adore that fic, I really do, and I feel so bad that I haven't reviewed you lately! My faves list for PotC/LotR is mostly in Kesa-Kiriage's file. LOVE YOUR WRITING! You belittle yourself UNBEEELEEEVABLY! Review again if you can! I'll review you if you review me! (Oh who am I kidding, I'll review you anyway!)

whiteswan - Yes, me and my damned cliffhangers. Hee hee hee... You will probably hate me after this chappie... And yes, the bond between El/El is sweet, but that may just be what makes Elladan do what I'm gonna have him do next...

L3g0lsluv3r - I luv the way you spelled that name. THAT is genius! Well, sorry about yet another cliffie? It keeps people reading and gives me a good starting place for the next chappie! SO glad you like it!

shadowfaxgal7 - YOU AWWED TOO?! I am pathetic, I need to get IM. I'll tell you when I do! YESSS DEATH TO QUICK-EDIT! I'd love to talk too! I have a cell that does free long distance, if you want It, just lemme know! I'm so flattered that I have written someone's all-time fav story! Your long reviews are always the highlight of my day! Yes... I write what really touches me too, it's half the fun. Now he's calling for mother tho, and Aragorn saving? Nope. Elrond? Mmmaybe.

HAH! No worry! HAHAHAHAAAH! (wipes away tears) Was this quick enough for you? I worked hard!

Aubre - Thank you!

Zammy - Eek! Was this soon enough?! I hope so...

Sliced, Diced, and Minced to perfection - ...The name says it all. "Pain is good, pain is nice, by the pound or by the slice"! I LOVE IT!

Veritas and Aequitas - I know. Glad you like!

White Wolf1 - (faints again) OH MAN! I HAVE JUST BEEN REVIEWED BY ANOTHER UNBELIEVABLE FAV AUTHOR! I AM SOOOOO IN LOVE WITH The Wrong Path! I CAN'T WAIT FOR THE NEXT CHAPPIE! I'm sooooooooooooooo sorry I haven't reviewed, I've been so darn BUSY! Is your mom okay? I hope so, I prayed for her. So, YOU LIKED?! (sniffle) J-JOY! MY LIFE IS COMPLETE! Ahhh, yes. The wonderful country of elftortureland! WAHAH! You are far more amazing than I could ever hope to be! KEEP GOING! I am SO amazed by your stuff! Thank you so much for reading, I really appreciate it! Again, my fav LotR/PotC stuff is in Kesa-Kiriage's file, so YOU ARE THERE! I think I am going to pass out now. (faints)

Wow. Such dedicated reviewers. You know what they say, it's quality, not quantity. MATA! (later in Japanese)

PLEEEEEEZE REVIEW!

(makes kittycat eyes disturbingly similar to the ones in Shrek 2)


	6. Chapter 6: Saving the Damned

Alright, I'm sorry; I miscommunicated. I didn't mean to say I'm disappointed in my reviewers! (I meant the amount of reviews.) No no no, I love all you guys! I'm impressed that you all find time to review! Seriously, your reviews ALWAYS make my day! Bakabokken, WhiteWolf1, LadyV, esp. shadowfaxgal (and others), I wait around for your reviews specifically. You people are cool, hilarious and positively awesome. They always make my week! My year! my millennium! Y'all so rawk.

Oh, MAN, I just got my SAT scores. UGH. I hate myself. 1140: 490 math, 650 verbal. (Geez, I know I didn't study, but... GAH.) Okay, and it's funny; 'cause the people I know keep saying that's an average score, while others keep saying it's high. Which is it?

I kinda got in trouble this week too. I crashed the ATV into a tree in a ditch down a hill. It knocked me clear off and gave me some good bruises, but geez I feel stupid. My poor little brother thought I was dead or something; it was kind of cute when he came running in screaming for me. It just proves my point about death scenes and torture: they show how much other people care about us. (Bwuahahaha. I scared him good.)

Jaa, I know, EVIL cliffhanger. As for the death, I am still debating, so as long as I don't know... YOU won't know. HAH! I AM evil. Okay, I won't babble anymore, I'll just give ya the next chappie! P.S. Thanks for the time of travel for Elrond, White Wolf-sama! You gave me a WON-derful idea...

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

~0~

**Chapter Six: Saving the Damned**

~0~

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Oh, how Elladan wished he could have seen the ships.

He knew it now. There was no point in useless denial. He hadn't bothered to think about it that much before; lest he give in to the longing that both blessed and cursed his kind in its own way. But he always knew that one day in his long life, he would see the Grey ships that took all Firstborn home across the sea.

_...Valinor..._

Now the closest he would get to that was the memory of a mental image sent him by his father, of their mother sailing away into the bright, multi-hued sunset; bittersweet, not exactly the happiest of memories.

Other than that, the only thing the Noldor remembered through the blinding pain in his chest was the sickening crunch of his own bones and the wet sound of tearing flesh before being thrown forcibly into unconsciousness. Now, as he awakened, the ache of tightly stretched limbs and burning agony in his midriff returned, harshly, relentlessly and unavoidably real. Mercifully his numerous injuries, in their own severity, had numbed themselves somewhat from shock. It was very cold, and he no longer had the strength to cry out or even shiver; that luxury had left him a while back.

He felt himself being dragged by bound wrists over a hard, rough surface, blood smearing the rock where his back made contact. The growling laughter of the Uruks was everywhere; their evil presence surrounding him, tainting him with their horrid stench. It hung in the air like a poisonous vapour, ready to infect the first victim it ensnared. It was that evil that wiped away the last of his colourful memories.

The elder twin groaned sharply as the Uruk dragging him slammed his back over a particularly large stone in their path, then kicked him roughly for the noise-

-in the stomach.

That did it. His body was sent into another fierce round of convulsions, and his captors stopped walking. The elf registered the lack of movement under him just in time to receive a backhanded blow to the face that knocked him onto his side. The air was forced out of him, and he lay in a tight bundle, hands latched onto his middle like talons. Elladan didn't have to cry out, though; he could hear his brother doing that for him, very clear and almost deafening.

He caught snatches of his twin's thoughts between the screams, infectious emotions: regret, denial, overwhelming fear. Not just for him, but for their little brother, their father, and Legolas. Elladan's heart contracted, and he reached for his twin through the mist.

_Elrohir... I don't want us to go like this, but-_

_I know, Elladan- I... Oh, Eru... Naneth- Ada-_

A flash of Estel's panicked face lit his vision, followed by Legolas and a Rohirrim woman Elrohir identified as Eowyn. Estel was holding them, begging, pleading, ordering them to stay. A touch of something like morning dew caressed the corner of his thoughts, and then his eyes were focused on a group of filthy, gnarled, grotesque beings glaring down at him, evil spreading outward from their every pore, reaching to yank him up-

_It-it will all be over soon,_ he tried to soothe his brother and himself gently, shakily. He felt his numbed fingers skim across the ground as he was lifted by his neck.

_It will all be over, just hold on a little more. We-will be free of this, Elrohir._

_Free... We will, but... I wish we could... I wish- Ah!_

Startlement bounced at him from Elrohir's consciousness, and a split second later he knew why.

_Elrohir, what-?_

He was rendered speechless, even mentally. He'd never felt anything like it.

His mind, his heart, his soul, just opened, like a cool, white, full-petaled flower in a burning desert, flooding his body with sweet, indescribable relief. Perfection, peace... Someone had just splashed him with pure, clear water from a stream, raining it down upon him in refreshing, comforting sheets. Elladan felt his twin's presence with his own now; contented, cheerful, just like every other day. They were each just as glad to finally be free of the pain.

_So this is dying... It's- well- wonderful!_ He felt like laughing. Only now could something like this be said of death, by an intended immortal no less.

_I know... so strange... I thought it would be different. I could swear I felt... _Elrohir's thoughts fell away from him and he felt him sit up on his elbows. A sudden, frantic fear pulsed in the link between them.

Elladan felt the white draining, the pleasant feeling remaining momentarily before being ripped away like a security blanket from a small child, only much, much worse. A cry from the damned seared his mind, and instantly recognizing the wailing voice he opened his eyes to two beings: a very large, dark Uruk-hai with yellow eyes, sneering at him, holding him up by his neck- and Prince Legolas Thranduilion, thrashing like a caught fish out of water, bright red blood splashed across his hands.

_Elbereth-_

"_NNNOOOOO!_"

Realization slapped him from his dazed stupor into immediate and violent action.

The first kick removed him from the beast's grip and sent it sprawling backward into his 'comrades', downing three more of them with him. The initial shock left no room for reaction and he took advantage of their bewilderment at the recovery of their seemingly half-dead elven prize. The two closest him were dead from broken necks before they had a chance to speak.

"'Ey, look out-"

"Wot 'appened-?"

"Grab the elf-"

"I call 'im!"

"Let me 'ave a go at the filthy little thing!"

"I'm gonna play with it 'til I've 'ad me fill, Snurag!"

"I've got 'im-GHK!"

Elladan swung around gracefully and redirected the oncoming creature's blade into its own chest, the hole spewing black blood like a small brook. Even before it fell the next four were upon him, and in a haze of rage and his hunger for vengeance he barely even saw how he felled them. Two were beheaded without even a chance for them to yell, and the Noldor realized that he had somehow gotten hold of one of their weapons. Some part of him also registered the thud of metal hitting the ground, and the lack of intrusion in his midriff, as the blade fell from his tunic. One of the Uruks tried to run from the fight; his companions jumped on him and disembowelled him before he got two yards, eagerly devouring the new meat.

The elf was running forward to meet the next opponent before he even knew what he was doing. Blood soaked his clothes and his hair as he whirled around in a swift one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn, maiming the already handless Uruk-hai that had been approaching him to the shoulder and quickly spearing him on the end of his newly acquired scimitar. The being's eyes were vacant as he slumped forward and lay there, unmoving.

Elladan's breath was coming fast and heavy with adrenaline; the two blades in his hands slashing and stabbing constantly as more and more of the dark beasts attacked. Time was a blur, he could only sense his body moving where it told him to, a pile of slain Uruks gathering at his feet, then his knees.

They stopped coming.

It actually surprised him. The frustrating helplessness and overwhelming anger at his and Legolas' being wronged ebbed away somewhat at the sight of the carnage strewn thoroughly, disgustingly across the plain. Bodies laid everywhere by his hand, there was no escaping them.

_And there would be no escaping them, were they alive_.

He tried to banish the lump of guilt that had taken root in his gut. The Uruks would only have killed more defenseless beings. Elladan breathed deeply in the darkening night, trying to collect himself. Fortunately enough, they had dragged him to the entrance of the maze of passages, probably hoping to catch up with the others and have some more sport of their own. The beaten path taken by the rest of the army was almost annoyingly obvious, especially to the senses of an elf.

_I need to get to Helm's Deep... but I won't make it in time-_

_Elladan! ELLADAN!_

The elder twin jerked. "Elrohir?!"

_Elladan, Legolas- Estel has him, but- Oh Valar, Elladan-_

"Calm down, brother, please," he begged him. "We'll think of something- Please, try and arrange your thoughts. We have to sort this out." He heard a mental breath and felt their shivering quiet down to a soft uneasiness. "Now, we must think. How would it be possible for us to save him and remain? Is there any way to channel partial life energy? A kind of soul healing?"

_I- I don't know_. The breaking voice was beyond anguished._ I don't know, Elladan, I haven't ever explored the limits of our bond. All I know is what happens to us... How does one stop a_ bond?

"It is difficult. First, the bond must be a very strong one," Elladan said darkly. "You must either deliberately renounce your connection to the person and be separated from them, or renounce them and make the decision to leave this world for them. If you don't make the vow seriously, it's impossible."

_Then how are we here? How did Legolas...?_

The twin thought for a moment, things falling into place as he said them. "Legolas has known us almost all of his life; we have been comrades for centuries. The bond we formed with Estel is only a little stronger than the one we formed with him; he knew this. He must have been able to cut off from us by distancing himself after fully extending the bond's limits-"

A retching scream came from a corner of Elrohir's mind.

_Then how do we stop it?!_ Elrohir cried. '_We cannot let him die, El! Not for our sakes-_

"I know!" The elf lowered his voice gently. "I know,_ gwanur-nin_. We'll think of something, we will, but I cannot reach him. I know you've tried too; he's cut off from us. Our bond with Legolas is not as strong as with the two of us, he is not our blood. For now we will just have to wait. The wounds should appear in about half the time it took for them to appear on you, but that may buy us enough time to figure out a solution."

_El... I'm so afraid... I don't want him to die because of us... because of me-_

"Elrohir, stop." The command was shrill with his own alarm. "He will survive. He has to! He is his father's son, and our friend. He will_ live_, El!"

_I want to believe that, El, but... after what I felt... what happened to us..._ A sudden, greater fear flared in his heart. _El, what about Estel? If Legolas does not survive this..._

Elladan had no answer for that.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Eowyn, help me!"

The shield maiden's heart was in her throat.

A moment ago the dark-haired elf had been mortally wounded, on the brink of death. She had been sure she was going to witness the departure of her lord's brother; she had been prepared for it. But the elf was up and about, his only distress being for the welfare of the blond elven prince. He was gathered tightly in the arms of one of the women, close to hysterical as he stood, watching with terror in his eyes. She was whispering to the Noldor, trying to comfort him as he rocked himself like a newborn.

Now it was Legolas who was curled inward, trying to rid himself of the blinding agony and breathe around blood welling up in his throat. He coughed and sputtered, choking on fluid, muscles spasming wildly.

"Eowyn-"

"_AGH_-" The prince spat out a mouthful of blood and clamped his jaw shut, latching both of his hands onto the ranger's. His breathing was straining and heavy, just as Elrohir's had been only hours prior, except through his nose from his refusal to unlock his mouth. The son of Thranduil had always been proud; he would not allow a show of weakness until it had broken him. He had backed up against the rock wall as he pushed away, striking the floor with his legs in seizures, and was bracing himself in a sitting position, elbows supported on his thighs.

The prince was a rock-hard ball of tension, ready to crack at any second. His body shook lightly with the effort of holding himself in check. Aragorn crushed his friend's hands in his own; firmly and possessively, encouraging him in Sindarin.

"Hold on, my friend, please; you must try to find a way out-"

"Ar- Aragorn-" The name broke on the first syllable.

He was losing the battle. No longer was it his friend's face hovering above his, but a group of strange, black beasts, clawing him, hurting-

"NO!" The vehement outburst was pulled from deep within him, ripping away the blackness covering his eyes and it was his old friend once more above him, giving orders for supplies to be brought. He tried keeping his eyes rock-steady on the Dunadan's, focusing with searing intensity. He narrowed his whole world down to the smallest details of his visage, trying to block out all other sensations-

"Eowyn, I need more bandages and a cold cloth, quickly!"

Rapid breathing, the brief brush of long, dark hair against his wrist, warmth and dampness from fingers hastily dried of blood, water, and sweat... The Mirkwood elf felt another burst of fire lance through him, and the focus wavered.

He wrenched his mind toward Aragorn's person. Legolas heard every dip and rise in the man's tone, his voice unsteady with emotions. Pushing away the catches in his throat was impossible for him now; the stress of having to care for his brother and then merely watch as he steadily slipped away had nearly broken him. But now, having to face the consequences of his dearest friend's choice, and being powerless to stop it, was becoming too much.

"We have to stop the bleeding and bring his temperature down. I need fresh water, and-"

Aragorn stopped in mid-sentence as he observed the copious amounts of dark red blood still spilling from the wound, despite the tremendous pressure he was placing on it. It was no use, the flow wouldn't stop.

They would have to cauterize the wound.

_Valar give me strength._

It took three tries for the words to come out. "Eowyn... Eowyn, I need... I need a hot knife, and a needle and thread. We must close the-" His head snapped back to Legolas at the abrupt shivers wracking his body.

"Legolas?"

The pale, clouded blue eyes turned to him blearily. "_H- h-helk-kh-_ (c-cold-)" After that the shivering was so intense he could do little more than stare pleadingly at him before closing his eyes against the pain._ He must have spent too much of his spirit in redirection of the bond_, the ranger realized. _He's given too much._ At this rate he'd go into irreversible shock within the hour.

There was no other choice. "Bring them to the bonfire," he said tersely, barely even acknowledging the shield maiden before scooping his friend's lithe frame into his arms and heading toward the fire at the far end of the enclosure. "Put blankets as close to the fire as you can, he needs heat."

"It will be done," she called over her shoulder, bundling up the cloths and bowls inside the blankets and following on his heels.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"El... El?"

"Shhh. It's alright, my lord."

He moaned, shaking in her arms. "Elladan..." the twin croaked. "We can't lose him."

Erhia eyes narrowed and she tightened her embrace. Was he still delirious, or was he talking to himself? Were the pauses between sentences a chance to breathe, or was he listening to voices in his head? She just couldn't tell; no Rohirrim peasant really had a chance to learn any languages other than their own. He had conversed for at least ten minutes in the musical tongue, but on occasion snatches of unconscious Westron crept through, giving her a small glimpse of what he was whispering.

"...We have to do something, _gwanur_."

"Aragorn... E-Estel, w-what-"

"Hold on, _mellon-nin_; I am taking you to the fire."

The elf's dark head lifted at this. He seemed to come out of a trance, blinking as though unaccustomed to the light. "Erhia?" he murmured, sounding confused. Then he must have realized where he was, and he smiled forcibly, tears and perspiration shining on his skin.

"I am sorry."

"No, my lord," Erhia said firmly, her eyes gentle. "It is no evil to be upset. He is your friend, and a good one by the sound of it."

"Thank you... for your aid. You are indeed kind, my lady," he told her, wiping at his eyes. Slowly, unsteadily, Elrohir backed out of her arms and leaned against the cave wall, trying to compose himself somewhat. His dignity was too far gone to be saved, but he could at least restore his appearance a bit. Despite the energy given to them, the hours of torture they'd endured had taken a heavy toll.

"I must see him," the Noldor excused himself, rising on buckling, leaden legs.

Erhia refrained from following him. She knew pride when she saw it, and knew its importance to her people, especially males. If anything, elves were probably the same, and this elf's pride had taken a severe blow, although in the face of the current danger it wasn't as prominent an issue. She let him stumble to the two men at the bonfire's edge, hoping that he had enough strength left not to break.

Even if the worst should happen.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"What's wrong with him, mama?"

"He's... he's ill, dear. Please, just stay here with me."

Lord Aragorn had taken his place at the fireside, the blond elf in his lap drawn to his chest like a child, shaking with cold. The other humans were gathered around him just as closely, shoulder to shoulder, as they tried to shut out the draft of the damp cave walls. The majority of them were women and children, but there were still a few injured men lying with wives or children on pallets and hay. They had been dragged to the edge of the bonfire where they could be kept comfortable.

"Will he be well, my lord?" A woman in her late seventies observed the Firstborn with aged, concerned eyes. She had lived through much war, and had tasted enough of death to recognize its approach. The younger women watched silently from around them, most looking understanding, dark; others as wide-eyed as their children.

"In truth I do not know," he said plainly. "I cannot presume to make any judgements, other than what I know of his stubbornness and strength."

"I pray for his health."

His voice was soft. "Thank you. There is hope yet."

A sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach belied his confidence.

Legolas' condition was worsening. The injuries that had accumulated slowly over time for the twins was speeding up to open on his body in half the time. Every time a new wound appeared he would gasp spasmodically before catching himself and centering his breathing. The fear left to him from the twins was slowly infecting him, their stifling anguish eating towards his core.

A few peasants had drawn in sharp breaths when they saw a cut the length of a finger suddenly split the prince's cheek. He jerked, shivered.

"So," the Mirkwood elf began conversationally. "Nice- weather we're having."

Aragorn stared at him. Then grinned. "Yes, especially considering we've a cave ceiling over our heads."

He grimaced. "You know, you really... aren't helping the conversation. I am trying to- focus elsewhere while you do this..."

Estel's expression was pained. "Forgive me, Legolas, there is no way around it. This is going to hurt."

"Your knife," he said haltingly. "G-give it to me."

The ranger stared, then set his jaw in understanding and begrudgingly unsheathed a small, six-inch dagger from atop the sword sheath at his side. Legolas opened his mouth, allowing him to stick the blade between his teeth before clamping down, sweat pouring down his forehead. Finally, he gave a curt nod, blue eyes blazing defiance. Aragorn could feel his hot, heavy breath through the cloth of his tunic as he braced himself, pressing his cheek against the Dunadan's arm and turning his face away.

Estel had known Legolas since childhood, and he knew that his face was also buried in the fabric to hide any tears that would come. The archer was a warm, open individual among his companions, but he also knew when militaristic attitude was needed and could put up an amazing and practically impenetrable front. Due to his upbringing, his fierce pride and the high, unwavering standards of King Thranduil, Legolas had grown accustomed to hiding weakness and masking emotion.

The many countless battles and border skirmishes with orcs and men alike had also given him much practice in dealing with pain... and hiding it.

However, never had he received a wound this bad, and he had never had to endure cauterization.

A few women looked away while others started bringing their sons and daughters to a different part of the encampment. Others covered their children's eyes. Eowyn looked up behind her, and her face went white with shock. The woman at the ranger's left moved aside, and the humans were stunned to see the other elf, the dark-haired one who had been dying only moments ago, kneel and begin speaking to his stricken comrade.

"Legolas... how could you... invoking a soul bond like that, I-"

"Elrohir!" Aragorn's spirit was momentarily lightened with elation. His crystal blue orbs sparkled with unshed tears, concern flickering in their depths. "Are you all right? You are both well?"

"As well as can be expected," he said bitterly. "Elladan and I can't find a way to undo it. We're trying to figure something out; El is on his way here, but it will take time. Valar, I never would have asked for this, Estel."

"I know," he reassured him. "I know."

"If it's not too much trouble- I'd rather not wait for this," came the muffled, hoarse and quite annoyed voice from the man's arm.

"Legolas... _mellon-nin_-"

"Just. Get it. Over with."

He felt the elf replace the blade in his mouth. The Dunadan sighed deeply and looked to Eowyn. She had heated the knife to a red-orange glow, cleaning it and readying it for use. He took it from her with shaking hands, preparing a lone needle and thread. It had never been an easy job, even on nameless, unknown soldiers when he was healer in the armies of men. Most of those men had not survived, but he was counting on his comrade's elven abilities to give him more of a fighting chance.

This would work.

"Elladan, hold him."

"Aye." The son of Elrond clasped Legolas' bow hand to his breast. His fingers were shaking as he felt the heat of the blade on his skin.

Estel braced himself, and began stitching the mouth of the wound. His reaction was instantaneous; the elf was a knot of tightly-wound nerves, using every cell in his body to keep from reacting. But the slow, steady burning was giving him no quarter. No matter how hard he fought, the strain was breaking through his defenses.

As Aragorn worked his way down the wound, he felt his control slip further and further, nothing between him and unbearable agony... before Estel touched the red-hot metal to the edges of the wound beneath his fingers.

"Let it out, _mellon-nin_," Elrohir whispered.

Legolas pulled in a breath, held it for a mere second... and screamed.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Oh yes, let's just leave the dwarf out on things shall we?" Gimli muttered angrily.

It had been three hours since he and Aragorn had met up with each other. The last he had seen of the elf was his retreating back as he followed the ranger out the door to the keep. Neither had seen fit to inform him of any battle plans nor of the Rivendell elf's condition and it was making him extremely irritable.

_Fine_, he grumbled to himself, _If the dwarf is too expendable to be summoned, he'll just have to invite himself to the party._

The soldiers he passed stepped put of his way, deciding to steer clear at the very dour look on his wizened, bearded face. "Try to leave me out of the proceedings will they? I'll show those lads a thing or two..." With similar mutterings coming under his breath, the short being trudged into the tunnels housing the Rohirrim refugees.

~0~

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

I know I said I'd stop doing this, but cliffhangers leave me such a well-motivated place to start the next chapter. IN ADDITION: Here is the original version of this chapter, when my brother stole my computer and started writing FOR me about seven years ago...

"The soldiers he passed decided to mjcgjzygki 6ugkcjhbvkjxghvkasjump off of a cliff and yelled wakkawakkadoodooyeah while eating pork

(bwahh ha ha ha! The King of All Shinobi is back from fighting evil! He will once again strike terror in the hearts of m-

(kicks little brother off lap) OFF, EIDAN-CHAN! I AM TRYING TO WRITE A FIC HERE?! THIS IS SERIOUS! I'LL BE LYNCHED IF I DON'T DELIVER SOON! I HAVE A DEADLINE TO MEET!

-men, dwarves, elves, demondogs, giantrobots, samurai, glompers, fangirls and pirates alike!  
...well...yeah...I WILL strike terror...sometime-

-BUT NOT NOW EIDAN-CCHHAANN! LEMME WRITE AND GET YOUR BUTT OUT OF HERE! (kicks sibling into Mount Doom where Elrond promptly tells him 'I told you so' from the top of the cliff and sends him off with Elladan, Elrohir, Legolas, Aragorn, AND Glorfindel to an R-rated angst/adventure fic.)

(dusts off hands looking satisfied) Right. That takes care of that. Very sorry, everyone, my sincere apologies. I'll put a bounty on his head. (evil grin) Better yet, perhaps a torture vignette challenge...

Now back to our regularly scheduled program.)"

NOTE: Eidan-chan is my little brother who lives to mess up my writing. (Yes folks, that typing is actually from an eleven-soon-to-be-twelve-year-old.) Thank you all for your... patience with my nostalgia. XD


	7. Chapter 7: The Pain of Loss

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

~0~

**Chapter Seven: The Pain of Loss**

~0~

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Gimli carefully traversed the steep hill into the belly of the comforting caves. It was very crowded but strangely silent in the spacious passageways, and many women and children of varying ages were scattered throughout. An occasional baby's cry could be heard, but it was always swiftly quieted by its mother. The dwarf knew it was probably more from necessity and fear than from bothering others with the noise; the Uruk-hai armies would be here any minute. He figured on dragging the pair of taller beings back with him under the pretense of the battle beginning, rather than reprimanding them for leaving him behind straight away.

The dwarf grumbled unhappily as he approached the large gathering of human women and the few children who sat in laps, peering to see what the commotion was all about. Gimli did feel quite bad for the new elf; he had seen some of the damage inflicted before he'd been whisked away to the safety and, to him, comfort of the glittering caves. The screaming that had reached so many ears had not been lost on him.

"Move away- step aside there!" The smaller being shoved his way through the throng, knowing who he would find as he shouldered through the tall forest of humans clad in rags. The chain maille scraping by at waist level turned a few heads, but most were riveted on the three beings nearest the fire.

Gimli would never forget the next thing he saw as he finally pushed to the front of the crowd.

His bracers had been removed. The tunic he had been wearing earlier was partially open and bloody to the point of soaking, and the features of the downed elf were so twisted that it took a moment before he recognized the blasted Mirkwood prince for himself.

His breath was suddenly stolen from him.

The dark-headed elf was kneeling and looking quite healthy next to Aragorn, who held a glowing, heated dagger in his hand, lowering it to the torn stomach of the extremely distressed blond elf in his lap. Legolas was lying prostrate, weakened, gasping in deep, even breaths to contain himself, fighting desperately to remain in a state of control that the stubborn, high-born elf usually had no trouble maintaining. His face was milk-white, dripping with sweat and trembling with a strain that threatened to break his facade as he clung to the ranger's clothing, his left hand gripped tightly by the Noldor elf at his side. The panic growing in his eyes was a very disturbing sight.

The dwarf stood frozen for a moment, disbelieving of the suddenness in which the situation had changed. He was startled out of shock by a soft murmur... followed by an unearthly cry.

"Let it out, _mellon-nin._"

Legolas' head was thrown back, mouth open wide, features twisting in a spasm of pain as the ranger ran his knife slowly down the wound, screaming in agony. He twisted in the Dunadan's grasp, trying to escape the scorching heat that was slowly searing his flesh even as his head told him to stop. The charred smell emanating from the wound was nauseating, and off-white smoke rose from it in a small cloud. The sizzling of skin and muscle underlined his gasping cries as he tried in vain to flee from the source of this mind-numbing agony.

It was far too much for Gimli to take quietly. Three humans were shoved violently to the ground as the small being stumbled to his friend and landed on his knees. "Lad- lad, what happened?" The deep rumble trembled with grief.

"How did this happen? What did you do, you stubborn creature?! Legolas..."

Gimli's denials faded at the sight of his horrible mistreatment: the gash, the lacerations, swelling bruises, the twisted arm. The dwarf stared in horror, disbelieving. The thought that something like this could have happened... He had been expecting them to go, to die side by side in the battle to come if nothing else, but this- for this he had been woefully unprepared.

Tears welled in beautiful dark eyes and tumbled down the coarse beard.

"Legolas- Elf, don't do this to me! Legolas-" Another scream was torn from the prince's throat and Gimli watched in horror as he writhed, his body stiffening before all strength deserted him and he fell back against Aragorn, shivering. His hand dropped away and the Noldor snatched for it in despair.

"Elladan, please," the twin begged plaintively. "There has to be something-"

The dwarf rounded on the king-to-be, ignoring the Noldor. "Aragorn! What happened?! Tell me! I swear to you, I'll decapitate you with the handle of my axe if you don't tell me!" he exploded.

"He took Elladan's and Elrohir's damages upon himself," the Dunadan said gravely. His tone was distracted, and for no small reason; keeping his best friend's pain to a minimum was not an easy goal. In fact, it was proving impossible. He set down the knife and wrapped a set of newly-opened slashes in his shoulder with a sash handed him by one of the children, binding it tightly before tying it off with his teeth.

Legolas saw the knife approaching him again and his eyes widened. The moment his gaze met the orange glow, all resolve was ripped from him. The prince knew he could not withstand more of that pain; the terrible burning was still there in his gut as though the knife had never left him, and it was grinding his every nerve. His head swam with emotions, flitting thoughts, and with a sudden jab of pain piercing through his body, it became too much.

He broke down.

"Aragorn, stop- I can take no more," he sobbed, tears brimming shamefully in the proud eyes. "Aragorn- Estel, please..."

His quiet plea was the final straw. Aragorn knew it; he couldn't go on.

"We'll wait," the Dunadan told him. "We'll wait a while longer, then I'll finish it. It will be over soon; I swear to you my friend." A faint sound was in the ranger's ears; a sort of droning hum in his head, barely noticeable, that pounded with his heartbeat. He closed his eyes and breathed in slowly, trying to steady the trembling building in his hands.

Aragorn knew his responsibilities as king, should he accept them. He knew that men would die on a whim, that they would leave their friends and families bereft of them to serve him. He knew that men would suffer horrors untold, deaths innumerable, fear unfathomable to do his bidding. But the sick, cold feeling in his stomach was from the realization that for him, for him, they would probably end up watching their kindred die as well. The Dunadan was shaken by the very thought. After all the things he and Legolas had survived, after all the pain they'd suffered... With the look in Gimli's eyes the true meaning had finally sunk in, and it was rocking him to the core.

He could not accept such fates for anyone. Not for his sake.

Legolas moaned as another wave of nausea and disorientation swept his senses. "A-Aragorn... Aragorn, I don't- I feel-" The sick elf tried to pull himself up and nearly blacked out from trying to use severed stomach muscles.

"Gimli, the bowl. Quickly!"

The stunned dwarf had just enough sense left to comply, grabbing the nearby bowl of dirty water and dumping it out onto the dirt. Elrohir swiftly pulled him onto his side and held him up, keeping him from lying on his stomach as the Mirkwood elf brought up the contents of his stomach. Elrohir's face was wet with silent tears, and he held the prince's fair hair away from his face as his body reacted to the damage the poison wrought upon him. His body jerked in heaves, and he trembled as the muscle spasms wrought havoc on his wound.

After ages of waiting, the hunched shoulders stilled of larger movement and he broke down into soft, dry sobs. In a half-hour, he had quieted into what they all thought was unconsciousness. But the elf gave a quiet murmur, drawing the three beings' attention.

"I don't... know how you do this, Estel..."

The man blinked. "What?"

"Being mortal is... notall that pleasant..."

So he had been right. Aragorn's heart contracted with pain. "Legolas, I-"

"For anyone, really," he went on, oblivious. "Do you know... the only times... I have ever wept...?"

Aragorn started. The subject and the glaze over the elf's blue eyes was belying his seeming lucidity. He glanced with alarm at Gimli, who stared back at him uncomprehending. _He is delirious_, he thought. _He would never address this in front of him._

"Legolas, what are you-"

"I have only wept... truly wept... three times in... almost three millennia, did you know that? I... they-" The elf shivered, then continued in a croaking half-whisper, clouded eyes staring into the void from Elrohir's arms. "My mother... when she died... My brothers when... when they sailed... and you."

"Me?" The ranger's eyebrows went up.

"The cliff... in the hills, when you went over... I thought... we all thought you had died." Gimli averted his eyes to avoid the ranger's inquiring gaze. "I... wouldn't believe... you were gone... You could not have... But... we arrived... here... and you..." He closed his eyes. "You were gone... I..."

"...Legolas..." The Dunadan was stunned. He had seemed so unaffected, so sure of his return...

"I remembered our... first hunting trip together... In Rivendell... and the... first time I... saw you with your father..." A small smile graced his lips. "The... first time you shot a bow... at Elrohir..."

The twin blinked wide eyes, and grinned, recalling how he had yelped in a very undignified manner and scrambled to get out of the way. "I had not missed that day until now," he admitted.

"You were always there... no matter what we did... And then... when they said that... that you were..." He swallowed, his forehead creasing, "You had gone to the Halls... where I always knew... that one day... I would... have to watch you go... watch you leave... I could not bear it..."

The golden-haired archer lifted his eyes to meet his friend's, gaze clearing momentarily. "And that was when I knew... I could... make the choice... I could stay, and live my years mourning the passing of my kindred, of you, of Gimli..." The dwarf started when his name was mentioned, "or I... could go, too. When you returned... I had almost..." Legolas' eyes closed as he recalled the weight of his emotions. "I came so close..."

_...There is no fear when you remember that..._

Aragorn's expression was one of stark horror as he remembered his friend's words atop the tower.

He had been dying of grief.

Remembering the image of his companion's face when he had first entered the gate and encountered him: the redness in his glassy eyes, the puffy lids, the pale complexion, the slight unwillingness to move when it wasn't necessary... It all made sense. At his death, Legolas had almost given in to the temptation of joining him, forsaking Middle-Earth. The Dunadan was at a loss; words just wouldn't come.

Now the dark circles under his eyes were deepening again, and this time they may not be able to bring him back.

"Aragorn... I have... a confession..."

The dark-haired ranger leaned in to hear. "What is it, _mellon-nin_? What more have you to say?"

"...Do you... remember..."

He waited expectantly, taking the elf's hand in his.

"...the worms?"

Three pairs of blank eyes fixed on the elf.

"What?!" came the three simultaneous replies.

"...When Elrohir and... Elladan left for Bree... we decided... to hunt with them... The worms in your boots; you thought... they had left them for you..." he smiled, eyes half-closed. "It was me."

"What?" Elrohir tried to look outraged. "So that was why Estel wouldn't talk to us for a week! We thought he was sick, or had lockjaw or something." His gaze sobered, but a smile remained painted on his face. "You can't die now, my friend. You've marked yourself. Elladan and I have to pay you back now that we know what that was about."

The elf grinned softly before his eyes closed completely.

The Dunadan barely had time to make sure that he was still with them before a deep horn blast in the distance made everyone look up. The rumbling that had been growing in the ranger's head was now very clearly not a hallucination, but a sound. The walls were vibrating visibly.

Aragorn's pupils contracted until they were nothing but pinpoints. His teeth clenched and he growled, clutching Legolas tightly to him.

"They are here."

~0~

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

I am SOOOOO SORRY THIS IS SO SHORT! GGAHHH!

I don't even know what's going to happen next, so sorry if it's incoherent but hey, at least it keeps you guessing! And yes, if you look at the Two Towers, when he says "You're late" in Elvish, Legolas eyes are red and puffy as if he's been crying. Take a close look at the picture if you can get it.

Review responses:

Bakabokken:.  
BUWAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAH! Your review was hilarious! Make more at three in the morning or whatever! So sorry if my brother woke up your parents... even if we don't live in the same state, ne? I know, life got crazy for me too, I am SOOO SAWWY. YAY! SCARED READERS! Muahahaha... And yes, I die a lot. I hope the worms thing was funny too, I just decided I wanted to try a little humor myself after so much angst. Probly won't do it too much more in the next few chappies tho. Mata!

Shadowfaxgal7: I am sorry to keep you waiting... and this was so short (frown) Well, thank you! I can't believe you like me better than published books on the library; it gives me something to work for in coming chappies! WAH! I feel like I didn't do that great on this chapter, but hey, tell me what you think.

Lint Ball of Doom: ...I so love your name. Here ya go! Hope I'm as amusing as my bro... He just turned twelve last week. TWELVE! He's almost my height now! GEEZ I feel old.

ElvenRanger13: Oh, DUDE! One of my fave stories' authors just reviewed me! AND PUT ME ON THEIR FAVES?! (swoon) Nah, I can't reely whine like a two-year-old, 'cause I DO THE SAME THING! EEK!

Legiawen: Glad there's someone out there feeling my pain. Well, not really. Please don't feel pain!

White Wolf1: (passes out) (reads review) Nope, no happy Gimli for a bit. I'm glad El and El's thing came thru! Aww, yeah. Ya know, I should probably reread my whole story to get the feel for it back... Ah well. Any suggestions, please tell! 'Ta!

genjosanzo... (Aww heck I can't spell it. No energy): Thanks! Yup, bishie-elf-torture... Ahh.

Rogueish Smile: Ooh, nice name! Thanks for the compliments! Enjoy!

Deana: (blinks) DEANA?! I'VE BEEN REVIEWED BY DEANA! WAAAH! (faint) Sorry I haven't reviewed in a while, I'm still following your stuff, but time is short now that homeschooling is back up. As for killing... mmmmmmaybe.

whiteswan: You lit a fire under my butt. Thanks to you, EVERYONE has this chappie to read! Yu rawk! (Even if it is infinitesmaly short...)

Next chappie: Who has arrived here at Helm's Deep? Could it be... Arwen? Maybe, but probably not. Unless she sounds like a herd of elephants when she walks... Unlikely.


	8. Chapter 8: They Call Me Away

This is going to be HEAVY. Look out.

I'll try to write our new character likeably. If you aren't drawn to a character in the first place, it's hard for you to like her written, so needless to say, some may not like our new addition. But heck. I'm writing.

Enjoy. (I am sooo sorry about no review responses, but next chappie I will respond to everyone, and I mean everyone! K? K.) And yep, I hope this was fast enough for you, Deana! She really got my butt going.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

~0~

**Chapter Eight: They Call Me Away**

~0~  
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_Twilight _(Don't panic, it's a poem...XD)

"Looking across  
The water we are  
Startled by a star  
It is not dark yet  
The sun has just set

"Looking across  
The water we are  
Alone as that star  
That startled us  
And as far."

- Samuel Menashe

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

They were indeed here.

Aragorn ran recklessly at full speed up the steep, slippery hill, a fire kindled in his eyes that could not be extinguished save by one thing: revenge.

It was this army that would destroy the Rohirrim, it was this army that had caused his brothers and his dearest comrade- his soul brother so much pain, and it was this army that would kill entire races for nothing more than the sport of it. If it were left to Saruman, the entire populace of Hobbits, Dwarves, Men and Elves would be wiped out or enslaved; forests and fields would burn, hopes would fade, loves would die, and the world would be forever cast into shadow. All would fall...

_...all will come to darkness... and my city to ruin!_ The anguished voice rang through his mind.

Estel's eyes smouldered.

It would not be allowed to stand.

"Ho there! Lad!" Gimli came running up after him, following through the passageways with difficulty, huffing and puffing. Strider was not called such for no reason. "Hold, I say! Wait, you young buck!"

Aragorn ignored the dwarf's gruff scolding and kept running until he had reached the top of the Hornburg. He walked swiftly, purposefully to the head of the lines, drawing chilled stares from the Rohirrim men who caught the roiling fury in his eyes. They were lined up on the walls, armoured and armed, watching with apprehension as lights were seen in the distance. The Dunadan could barely make out the humanoid shapes of soldiers. He set his jaw, drawing his sword and stalking toward the edge of the wall.

Theoden saw the ranger approach and he felt a pang of pity and sorrow as he came to the front of the line, sword in hand. He knew that if the healer had returned, then there was nothing more to be done for the son of Elrond.

Aragorn Elessar came to stand by the King of Rohan's side, facing forward in tight-lipped silence. They stood watching the horizon for five whole minutes before Theoden dared to break the tense quiet.

"Has he left us?" the king asked softly.

"No."

"No?" He sounded surprised. Theoden's features hardened in confusion, his brow furrowing.

"Legolas is dying," Aragorn said bluntly.

There was a different kind of silence as he absorbed this terrible statement.

"What...?" The man's grey-green eyes were wide with undisguised shock. "How?"

"He has taken my brothers' burden onto himself. The twins are alive and well; they bear not so much as a scratch." His voice was a mixture of relief and guilt. "Legolas had a similar bond with the two of them; he used it to sacrifice himself in exchange for their lives." _And mine,_ the Dunadan thought mournfully.

_Oh, my friend, do you know what you will do to us in your eagerness to save us?_

"The wounds now lie on him. It is only a matter of time," he finished.

The King of Rohan was stunned.

"...I am sorry," Theoden managed. "I am so sorry for your loss."

Aragorn said nothing.

On this one day in his eighty-seven years, hope had been slowly pulling away from him bit by bit. Now it seemed to be abandoning him completely. As a soldier, and one of the Dunedain, he had seen things no man should ever have to see, done things... but all that time he had held onto his faith. It had almost been easy, remembering that he was helping to keep those he loved from harm.

The ranger wanted to deny Theoden's condolences, to say that there was always hope, that there was always a way for good to triumph in the end as he had been taught and truly believed all those years. But now, with this hard truth in front of him, and the face of his dying friend still floating before him, he could not bring himself to refute the man's words.

"They will pay for this," the man murmured, eyes blazing a fiery blue. "I will not let them shed any more blood. This night it will be theirs that darkens the earth."

Theoden stepped back slightly and looked at Aragorn. _I pray you are correct in your predictions, Elessar. It will be far too dangerous for you if you are not._

"They come," one of the men pointed. "Archers, ready!"

A lone figure was riding up from the group on horseback, pushing ahead. The ranger frowned. _Is it Gandalf? This isn't an orc rider. _"Hold!" Aragorn shouted behind him, waiting for the sound of relaxing bowstrings. He glanced at Theoden. "This is no Uruk-hai."

The king nodded in agreement. "No enemy would seek so boldly to enter our gates before battle. Let them in! Open the gates!"

"Open the gates!" bawled another soldier, taking up the cry for the soldiers below.

With a loud screeching, the doors again opened as the braces were removed, and a white stallion shot by, hooves thundering and cracking like whips over the cobblestones. The person on the horse was dressed in flowing robes similar to the cape Elrohir had worn, but it was greatly dirtied, as though it had seen much road. The figure swung off the back of the stallion and hurried off into one of the damp stone passages, heading for the keep.

Theoden judged the distance of the army to be far enough for him to properly see to this stranger, and he motioned for Gamling to follow and headed for the stairs, his golden armour glittering in the torchlight.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Where is Aragorn? I must speak with him," said a light, urgent voice from under the hood. "I must speak with your lord!"

The tall man holding a spear looked down at the cloaked being with a pleading gaze, hand raised in a placating gesture. "Please, Miss, calm down. King Theoden and Lord Aragorn are rallying the men; there is an army approaching us. They cannot hold audience with you now-"

"You don't understand! I must tell him not to fire upon them! They are here to-"

"Miss, you must get down to the caves, you cannot stay here-"

"You are not listening! This army means no harm, you have to tell the Rohirrim hold their fire-"

"I am going to have to insist that you get inside, Miss, you will be killed if you stay-"

"Let me go!"

"What is going on here?"

Theoden strode through the archway and into the hall where one of his men was detaining the rider, Gamling escorting him from behind. The soldier had just laid hands on the woman to forcibly escort her below, and in her struggle to be released the velvet hood slid from her face and piled upon her shoulders.

The three men did a double-take at the sight before them.

Sharp, jewel-blue eyes stared accusingly into theirs from a pale, porcelain face tinged pink with blood. It was framed by thick, ink-dark threads of silk that rippled down her front and around her cheeks in waves, her white neck long and delicate as she lifted her head in defiance. Her crimson lips were parted with a slight lack of breath, arms drawn up to pull away where she had frozen when the king had entered. Daintily tapered ears parted the ebony mane as she inclined her head toward the monarch, acknowledging him.

"King Theoden."

Said king realized that he was gaping, and closed his mouth. "My Lady. What is it that brings you here thus?"

"I am here to inform you of the army approaching your gates," she said formally. "You must not fire upon them, my lord. They are no enemies of yours."

"No enemy? Lady, say you these are not Uruks approaching?"

"Yes. They are an army sent you by my father, Lord Elrond, to aid you in the fight for Rohan and for Middle-earth. I am Arwen of the realms of Imladris and Lothlorien."

"Elrond?" He stared at the she-elf, feeling quite poleaxed. "An Elven army comes?"

"Yes, my lord." She waited patiently for him to compose himself, watching calmly as he finally turned to Gamling.

"Tell the men to hold their fire, that they are an army of allies. I will be with you shortly."

"Yes, sire."

Theoden turned again to the young-looking maiden, who was watching the sentry out of the corner of her eye. He was standing at rigid attention with a dark blush on his cheeks, looking very embarrassed. "Dismissed," he told him, giving the man a reprieve. He accepted, chagrined.

As the soldier left the king inquired of her, "You are the daughter of Elrond?"

"Yes, my lord."

Theoden was silent. He turned his gaze downward, but not before Arwen read the doubt in his eyes. "What is it that troubles you, my lord?"

He looked up at her, tight-lipped; unsure of how much he should say. "There... has been an incident..."

Her gaze was questioning. "Aragorn?"

Theoden shook his head, "No, but... My Lady, perhaps you should go to the caves, there is someone waiting-"

At that moment, Aragorn ascended the steps and entered the hallway, dark hair concealing his face, his chainmaille armour clinking as his sheath bounced against it. He had one hand resting on the stone doorway, and it was good that he did, for when he looked up, the expression borne on his features told them he might well have fallen over otherwise. The maiden's face lit with a pure and vibrant happiness.

"Estel."

Theoden decided he had better take his leave, knowing that the ranger would be better at breaking the news than he. Plus, from what he gathered from the look on both of their faces, the two would probably be wanting some time alone. Aragorn was frozen in the doorway, face gone pale, fingers welded to the wall. She smiled, and reached out to touch his cheek, cupping the side of his face in her hand.

"A- Arwen-" he choked out.

She silenced him by putting her other hand to his lips. Arwen's eyes became crystalline blue with tears. "I told you I did not believe you." The smile widened. Her fingers strayed to the pendant around his neck. "I still do not."

The Dunadan didn't move.

"Lord Aragorn, I must go to the gates," Theoden told him. "The army will be there soon. Meet me when you have finished here." With that, the king turned on his heel and swept out into the open night air, leaving the pair alone.

Immediately the elf woman rushed to Aragorn and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his neck. "I missed you," she whispered in Elvish. The daughter of Elrond released her breath in a relieved shimmer, feeling the warmth and solidity of his body against hers. All the while the ranger never stirred, never returned the embrace nor moved to release the wall.

After mere seconds she realized something was very wrong. She could feel it in the rigidity of his posture, in the way he remained completely motionless. Arwen released him at arm's length, searching his eyes for answers. "Aragorn?"

His eyes flashed suddenly, angrily.

"You should leave."

"Aragorn..." Her arms dropped to her sides. Her face was deceptively passive. "What has happened? There is something here I am unaware of."

"Arwen, you will come to the same fate; you cannot be here. You must go. Leave. If you hurry you can still catch one of the last ships for Valinor-" His face was between anguished and furious. "You- you must go."

"I cannot, Aragorn. You know it is true. There are no more ships." Her soft eyes begged his for understanding. None came.

"If I could... would you have me go?" she inquired gently.

"...I would."

With that he whirled 'round and strode purposefully out the door, startling her with his swiftness. "Aragorn!" She followed him, anger beginning to colour her tone. "Aragorn, wait-"

He did not heed her. The man walked away swiftly, trying to leave her behind as he re-ascended the keep. "Aragorn- Estel, wait!" The elf-maiden paid the other soldiers no heed, as he weaved his way through passages and rushed past confused men. Her beauty drew many stares as she passed, the hem of her cloak whispering at their feet.

"Estel, please! You must answer me!" Arwen grabbed his sleeve, halting him in the open air just beyond the entrance. The lines of Rohirrim were visible, Theoden barking orders and preparing the opening of the gates for the elves.

The ranger kept his eyes straight ahead.

"Estel," she said more quietly, but no less urgent, "what has happened? Please, I must know." The detached expression he wore was beginning to frighten her; it was not like him to withdraw like this. "Estel? My love, please."

"...dead..."

"What?" Startlement flashed across her face.

He whirled and confronted her, eyes brimming. "He will soon be dead! Our brothers were dying and he could not let them go! I, _I_ could not let them go!" He struck at his own chest with damnation of the word.

The shouting laid all eyes upon the two people in the archway.

"I could not bear to see them pass! They were going to die, Arwen! And before, he almost fled this world because he thought me dead! Now I am going to kill him regardless! His blood will be on my hands, because of my weakness! If it were not for me, my selfish need for them- he would not have- he-" His throat clenched tighter. "Legolas would not be-"

Aragorn broke away, unable to face her as his voice cracked under the pressure.

"What... what am I going to tell them?" he whispered brokenly. "King Thranduil... Ada...What will I...?"

The silence stretched uncomfortably.

Elrond's daughter seized him by the hand and pulled him back into the shelter of the hallways, trying to assimilate all she had just heard. They left the humans completely bewildered and more than a little ashamed that they had been privy to such an emotional moment of weakness.

Arwen's fear was rising to a point, ready to pierce her heart. The emptiness clouding his eyes was pitiful to behold and made her heart ache. "Aragorn. Love, say you that Elladan and Elrohir are-?" the blue-eyed elf woman left off, her gaze pleading him to deny it.

She was not disappointed. "Elrohir... Elladan had been felled... They were both on the brink of death, and I- I lost..." A dark curtain of hair blocked his face. "...I lost all hope that they would remain..."

Arwen's eyes widened. This was serious. Aragorn was named Estel for a reason: the hope of men. If he thought all to be lost, then perhaps it would soon be."Our brothers..."

"Legolas knew... He knew we couldn't lose them, and he cared for them so..." A soft sob broke from his lips. "He used it to take death from them. Even now he lies in the caves."

"_Elbereth..._" Her head shook unconsciously in denial. "Aragorn... he invoked a _fea_ bond?"

A silent nod.

The she-elf's voice was thick with compassion. "Oh, Valar...Estel, I am so sorry."

Finally she saw the raw agony in his gaze, and an ache of sympathy for the man nearly made her weep. The strain of the past twenty-four hours had grown beyond what he could bear. When she pushed aside the long, wavy locks of dark hair from his face, the tears that came from under closed lids gushed forth with his grief. His face crumpled, his chest tight with pain and grief, the sob building there refusing to be released, and she took him in her arms.

Aragorn let himself be held by this one he loved so much, the one he swore he'd never let come to harm, and a cry broke loose from him like that of a wounded animal. The ranger clung to her like a small child. Why did she have to return? He only wished that she would have gone to the Havens, across the sea where she could be happy, and safe.

"Oh,_ meleth-nin_..." murmured Arwen.

"I could not bear it if you were killed," he told her finally, choking on the words. "I will lose him; I cannot lose you as well..."

"I will not die easily." There was a hint of humor in her words. "Aragorn, my choice was to stay, and I do not fear what may come of it. I returned here to live with you, not die with you. You hold the key to many fates, and I trust in my Hope."

He straightened enough to meet her gaze, eyes red and bloodshot, cheeks flushed and damp with tears. "No. I can only do what is needed of me. Frodo now holds our fates."

"Between the two of you, I believe we are in good hands."

Arwen smiled at him, a sad, knowing smile. She hugged him to her. "Do not despair, love, not yet. For me...?"

"I do not know if I can. But for you, _Undomiel-nin_, my Evenstar, I will try." He returned the embrace tentatively, then caught her in a crushing hold. She was real, and would not be lost; that was a comfort he desperately needed.

Warmth spread between them, dispelling the darkness for a moment, and he was lost in her glow. Aragorn's heart swelled within him. No, he could not have borne it to see her go. This was how things would be, were Mordor's forces defeated and Sauron cast back into the shadows. He leaned toward Arwen, his fingers caressing her cheek as she gazed at him with such knowing love in her eyes.

"Ai- AAAAAAHH! No! NOOO!"

The two broke away, and their eyes met. "Legolas," she murmured in horror.

A new, more grinding scream met their ears, and they ached physically from the pain in it. "To the caves," he said brusquely. "Follow me."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"I've seen the moon  
And the first sun rise  
I'll leave it to the memories  
And kiss the wind goodbye

For the Eldar  
I'm trapped inside this dream  
Of the Eldar's  
Song of doom."

- Blind Guardian, _The Eldar_

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The Rohirrim women found themselves again huddled around their children. Fear was spreading in the air as the sound of marching came closer and closer, hitting home, and the anguished cries of the failing Mirkwood elf were merely adding to the tension.

Erhia and Nella were leaning on each other, a five month old infant in the younger woman's arms while her other child lay in Erhia's lap. Tears stained both faces.

Neither of them spoke.

"Gimli, his arms!"

"Ara-A-Aragorn- Elrohir! AI- _ESTEL!_"

"Lad, you must hold on- don't die on me, you stupid elf!"

The cries were tearing at his heart. The dwarf, of all people, knew how proud a creature the prince was, and it was hurting in more ways than one to hear him scream like this. _Don't leave us now, lad_, he pleaded mentally. _There's still so much more to come. We can't lose you now!_

The next yell was not merely pained, but afraid. Figures danced around him: dark creatures, shadows, friends, and allies, but the moment he focused on them they changed into something else. Sweat and the watering of his eyes blurred Legolas' vision, and he was becoming extremely disoriented. Pain, pain and fear, nothing but pain! Voices swirled in his head, confusing him and making him feel ill.

"Stay away!" he cried, staring with terrified, cloudy blue eyes. "_D-Daro!_"

More came. Yellow eyes watched him from the bitter darkness, that horribly obvious lack of light. He was lost, the fear, the sadness that seemed to belong both to him and the presence of two unnamed others closing in like a grip around his neck. His chest began arresting with the agony, and breath was stolen from him.

"Can't- Estel- I c-can't breathe," he gasped out. Spasms shook his body and he pushed himself off the floor with his arms, trying to find air somewhere above him, as though he were drowning. His mind was gone, caught somewhere in the throes of his visions, and his body reacted without any conscious thought.

Elrohir pounced on him and held his shoulders down. "Shh, shh, mellon-nin. You have to calm yourself-"

"He is not getting air!" Eowyn stared in alarm at the sickening blue-grey colour overtaking his cheeks.

"Legolas, mellon-nin, if you don't relax your muscles, you will suffocate," the twin told him in an urgent plea, his face a mask of centered calm. "You have to let the air in; breathe, Legolas! In... out... in... out... That's it, go on..."

The dark-haired Noldor leaned him back against his own chest, placing him between his legs on the stone floor and gripping his hands like vices, letting him feel the basically steady rhythm of his own breath. For a moment the rapid gulps of air met his pace, but then it spiralled out of any semblance of control and the taut chest froze with panic, his body shivering like an aspen leaf. His mouth opened wide in a silent cry for oxygen, legs kicking underneath him, struggling to rise.

"It's no good, we're losing him!"

"Do we have any root to relax the muscles?!"

Eowyn shook her mane of gold violently, making it ripple. "If we give it to him he could slip, and it takes at least minutes to work; he'll be gone before then!"

"No... He will survive this, he must..." Gimli's denial was almost a whisper as he took the elf's left hand from Elrohir. He was losing his conviction with each moment.

"We must do something, he won't last at this rate!" Elrohir cried angrily, frustration and fear getting the better of him. "There must be something we can use! An herbal remedy, a bleeding, something-"

A hurting acceptance grew in her eyes. "My Lord... I..."

"No!" he screamed, sanity slowly ebbing from his features. "Damn it all, he did this for US! _I WON'T LET HIM GO FOR ME!_"

"_Gwador!_"

Elrohir whipped his head up at the shout and saw Aragorn pelting down the hill towards them, Arwen behind him leaving a trail of silken robes. Part of him registered her presence, but he pushed it aside, cradling his friend closer to his chest. Legolas still hadn't drawn another breath, but his fingers were still squeezing the Noldor's blue and bloodless.

His voice rose with hysteria. "Estel, help! He is slipping!"

The ranger slid the last yard on his knees, taking the elf from his brother and pulling him up onto his breast. "Legolas- Legolas?!"

The prince was completely unresponsive, but the rock-hard posture and slight shaking told him he was yet alive. His eyes were slowly waxing white. Blood that had seeped from his wounds stood dark and heavy on his white skin, making even his light golden hair seem shadowed, but no more came from even the knife wound. Every bit of his healer's training was screaming at him to do something or this patient was going to die.

But also, he recognized the signs of death and knew that no being, immortal or otherwise, would survive from this point. He tucked the prince's head beneath his chin, wrapping him in a passionate yet tender embrace, one that tried in vain to keep him from being taken.

"Legolas- Legolas, please don't go," he begged him, crying bitterly and shamelessly. "I need you here, we need you! You cannot leave us alone! Please, don't leave us!"

"_Alone..._"

Estel looked down swiftly at the elf's face to see he had turned it towards him. His once jewel-bright eyes were dull and almost white, and no flicker of comprehension came. A porcelain hand lifted from the ground to touch his cheek.

"_You... will never... be... alone..._" The words were a constricted sigh, barely heard. "_They have come, Estel... can you not hear them?_" he whispered slowly, his head laying supported against the Dunadan's shoulder. "_They call... They call me away..._"

"Do not listen, do not heed them, Legolas!" Aragorn pleaded. "Just a little more, just a little while by Elven time. Linger here for just a bit longer, I beg you-"

"_I cannot... Estel... The gulls... can you not hear them...?_"

A shiver went almost invisibly through Elrohir.

_Elbereth..._

"_I will meet... you... on the shore..._" Legolas hand lowered to his lap. "_Like I... promised..._"

"Legolas." The word was a breath, afraid to shatter him.

A soft sigh, a blink, and then another. Then his chest went still, and all the tension ebbed away from the elf like a flowing tide, leaving Legolas' pitiable body lying limp in Aragorn's arms.

He was dead.

The soft features were now free of all strain, all agony, all fear; as unspoiled as a sleeping child despite his many centuries. Darkened lids lay closed, lined with lashes that marked his features like ink. His golden hair came free of its tie to spill over curled shoulders, arms resting in his lap, his legs sprawled over the man's crossed thigh like those of an unmanned marionette.

Aragorn stood stock still. He dared not move, for if he moved, this moment would be gone.

Numbness. His mind was blank, and he noticed distractedly that he couldn't feel his hands. His heart felt weighed down, as though by a boulder, and he felt he might throw up. Tears were yet coursing down his pale cheeks, but he paid them no mind. His best friend still didn't stir in his arms. It was an unnatural stillness and the wrongness of it grew in him like a disease with each passing second. The ranger could still feel where Legolas had touched his face only seconds ago.

"Le...golas..."

Gimli, Eowyn and Aragorn looked up at the breaker of the silence. Elrohir had risen to his feet and was backing away like a cornered criminal. In his eyes, he was.

"No," the elf croaked. "No... he can't... be... he..."

He backed straight into Ehria, who had risen to meet him before any harm befell him. "Lord Elrohir," she murmured tearfully. " Lord Elrohir, please-"

"I killed him- I have murdered him-" The dark-haired elf could not take his eyes away from the corpse strewn over Aragorn's body. "It is my fault..." His legs collapsed beneath him and both he and Erhia fell to the ground, sitting down hard on the stone floor as she held him from behind.

"L-Legolas... LEGOLAS!" he screamed out, emptying his lungs in a fury of self-hate and piercing grief. He lay there in Erhia's arms weeping out his anger and sorrow while the others sat frozen in shock. Above them, the footsteps of elves echoed through the cave walls as the army marched in, too late to save their prince. They sat there silently, staring at the empty shell that had once been their dear friend.

In appearance, he was tantalizingly close. But it merely emphasized the fact that he would never return again.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Noldor, blood is on your hands  
Your bane's a tearful destiny.  
...Can't escape from my damnation  
Run away from isolation.  
...This deed can't be undone."

Blind Guardian, _Noldor (Dead Winter Reigns)_

~0~

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

I tell you, I am dangerous when it comes to evilness.  
Review... and you never know what might happen

I haven't decided if things will stay this way...


	9. Chapter 9: Grief and Loosed Ends

Translation: "Muindor(-nin)": (my) brother (by blood)**  
**

**GO AND READ BAKABOKKEN'S REVIEW. NOW.** SHE WROTE IT LIKE AN ACTUAL PIECE OF A STORY ABOUT HER READING THE LAST CHAPTER. IT'S HILARIOUS. GO AND READ IT NOW!

Okay, any lynch mobs still out there? (waves white flag) (("There will be no- white- flag above myyy door-" Ahem. Sorry. Random.)) Also, let just clarify- LEGOLAS. IS. DEAD. NO FAKING. HE IS AS DEAD AS A DOORKNOB. (Sorry, just didn't wanna copy Dickens)

So do not hold your breath waiting for someone to say, "Wait, he didn't really die! Yay!" However... read on if you dare. (The lyrics I used are what I could gather. The music is sung by Germans, so their pronunciation is a bit hard to understand for me.) Enjoy!

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Responses:

Deana - Thanks for the review! Hope ya like it. I know, not soon, but December is the busiest time of year for musicians, and I live in a family of them as well as being one. As for the twins blaming themselves- I'm counting on it! (insert evil-laugh-that-takes-up-a-whole-chapter here) Hope this is good enough. If I have time to send you a copy as a beta of the next chappie, I will. You are so encouraging! Plus, I have a new fic up that you might like: Immortal Stranger. Go ahead and read if you have time. Ta!

sanzoeclipsekuramaarehot - HA! I got your NAME! (preens) Glad you likey! Umm... just don't be making out with the computer in the library. Hey, it's a machine, yo. HA! Poor librarian.

Elven Fantasy - Hey, did you know your name is a genre? Ahem. No actually, I didn't do it out of spite. ...I did it for reviews XD No, I had this planned. It's awesome for even me to read, so that's why I wrote it. As I said earlier, yes, he is dead. And no, Elrond does it revive him. ...But I have something else that you may not like almost as much as what I already did: Legolas may not be the only one who is going to die. Chew on that one awhile! (evil grin)

Elven Ranger - Aww, I'm sorry! I guess I'm glad the writing was that good and whatnot, but I don't like seeing people THAT sad! Well, that is one of the highest compliments an angst writer can get: tears. Thank you! And I apologize! As for bringing them back...

whiteswan - (looks at twin arrows sticking out of her buns) I guess this update wasn't quick enough... (pluck) OUCH! Okay, yes, I killed him. (silence) COME BACK! Look, keep reading, you may still like it. And I made YOU cry too?! Wow, I better start handing out boxes of kleenex at the beginning of each chapter! (hands kleenex box to Elven Ranger and whiteswan) Especially this one. And I am so glad you liked Arwen, I was nervous.

Roguish Smile - Yes, actually I did. That's one reason why I kept it. The other was to have someone for Aragorn to lean on and witness his pain. Ahh... angst. So sorry! (hands out third box of kleenex)

Lint Ball of Doom - I know. I've said I'm evil from the beginning, haven't I? But you better believe it, he's dead. And yes, I am mean. Sorry yet again, but you know you like it!

Hayai Akurei - Cliffhanger? What cliffhanger? Thank you for the compliments! I love descriptions, they totally set the mood. And yes, Lord knows I love pulling heartstrings; I pull more in this chapter. I wonder if they'll snap eventually... And NO, no slash. Good Lord, slash with the twins? Yuck; that's just wrong. Yes, I will have to let my muses off of their chairs soon. (calls back) Is the duct tape too tight? ("Mrph!") Good.

Shadowfaxgal - Ah! One of my fave reviewers! I wait for your reviews a lot too! Thanks, and no worries about chapter 7! And hey, I am writing a book, "Eelan: The Augury". Hopefully I can get it published... If you wanna read some of it, I finally created an account on It's my homepage on my author's bio for Feel free to read and review! And, heeere's more! Ta!

BakaBokken - ... BUAAHAHAHAHAA! Everyone who has not read this woman's review, go do so now! ("Lack of an e-mail... Hahaha!) Oh man, for another review like that, I'd kill him all over again! Heck, maybe I will. Ta! Thank goodness for late hours. (reads again) Wait- YOU OFFERED ME ICE CREAM?! Dear God! WHAT HAVE I DONE?!

hineko - Wow, I snagged a Lurker! Cool! (reels her in) "Stressed out" nursing student? Good Lord, is that an understatement from what I've heard. Good luck! And hey, here's yet another stress pill for you. Check out "Immortal Stranger" too, if you liked this. I couldn't get that out of my head until I posted it.

Hyperactive Forever - As a matter of fact, yes, Elrond did fly away! Hahaha! Read on. "My supreme angsty-writing-ness"? I like it! And yes, poor Leggy was an important character... I wonder what'll happen. Hopefully you'll get a few answers in this chappie. (reads last line) Umm... Yes, about Elladan... (ducks for cover) ('Lord, she's going to hate me for this...')

Sanaryelle - That is without a doubt the prettiest, most unique name I have ever read. And man, what an encouraging review! I'm readable, balanced, accurate in evoking scenes... man. Thank you so very much! Elrond the great healer working miracles? Perhaps. For Legolas though? No.

Celebdil-Galad and Tinlaure - Hey, thanks for taking time out of school. I know it's heck . And yes, I know, not soon, but at least it's up, right? Yes, I'm always good for people who want friendship, angst, and torture without sexuality, and a bit of gore. (Okay, a lot of gore.) Thanks again! Enjoy.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"...Hoist the fea

Soon my spirit will return

Welcome dawn

Your light will take me home

I say farewell

I say farewell...

To the Eldar

I'm trapped inside this dream

Of the Eldar's

Song of Doom..."

Blind Guardian, _The Eldar_

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

~0~

**Chapter Nine: Grief and Loosed Ends**

~0~

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

In all his life, Elladan had never been more on edge than while running alone through the plains of Rohan. Every step he took was not fast enough to satisfy him; every hindering stone in his path, every hill blocking the way to his destination seemed to become a new weight on his heart.

_If only I had been faster, if only I hadn't let the Uruk-hai get me off my horse, none of this would have ever happened_, he thought painfully, the truth cutting more efficiently than a newly-sharpened dagger.

_LEGOLAS! OH VALAR, LEGOLAS!_

The cry was staggering in its magnitude. Elladan nearly fell over in shock.

"Elrohir?!" Elladan stopped running and stared into the distance, feeling his brother's pain and anguish but not knowing why, tears forming involuntarily in his eyes as the fierce emotions swept him. "El-Elrohir, what is happening?!"

_I've killed him- Elladan, I've killed him, oh Valar-_

A bolt could have shot through Elladan's heart then, and the pain wouldn't have been any greater. A flash of white light blinded him to his surroundings, and blurry pictures of his comrades filled his vision. The plains disappeared to reveal Eowyn, tear-filled eyes meeting his, and he started slightly as Arwen came into view, standing beside him. 'What is she doing there?' he wondered inanely. But worst of all, burned into his mind's eye like a brand:

Estel holding an unmoving body, sobbing as though his heart were shattered, and in another flash of light, Legolas' face came into focus. His eyes were closed, and blood streaked the corner of his mouth, dripping onto his bare shoulder.

With a burst of white light he was thrown back into his own body, and the shock was so great that he fell to his knees, crumpling like a wooden doll. "Le-Legolas..." he murmured, tears overflowing from swollen eyelids and dripping mercilessly from black lashes. "Elbereth, it's my fault- Oh, Valar- He's dead... He is dead-"

His mind went blank. Elrohir had slipped into hysteria; he no longer knew or felt coherently what he was thinking, most likely because their thoughts were the same. I've killed him- oh please, Valar- I've killed him-

In the void, something touched Elladan's consciousness, a sort of fluttering, golden warmth that seemed to brush him with its passing. It brought him back to his senses enough to realize that the presence felt familiar, and he blinked, tears stemming slightly as he realized who it was.

"Legolas?"

_Do not grieve_, a voice commanded, not without tenderness. _It was my choice. Let me go_.

Elladan was horrified. "How- how can you ask this of me?!"

_Goodbye, my friend. You must care for Elrohir, and take good care of Estel as well, for I know not what he may do. But at least now he still has the two of you. To lose both of you would have broken him, Elladan._

"And losing you will not?" he cried bitterly. "Legolas, you do not know what you have done to him! And your father! What will become of him should you go? It will _kill_ him, my friend!"

The voice felt a bit uncertain, as if the feeling of regret was foreign to it. Then it answered him, softly.

_One of us had to die. I would have it be only one of us_, it said at last. _Goodbye, Elladan... Know that I love you all, and I will see you again. Farewell_.

"Legolas!" he screamed, trying to keep the voice close to him. "No! _LEGOLAS!_"

Elladan received no reply.

He was gone.

Elladan lay kneeling helplessly, his raven hair the only spot of true dark in an endless field of desolation. He wept for an eternity, asking the Valar why, why did this have to be? He couldn't think, he could barely breathe. The grief threatened to tear him from consciousness, and the Noldor gripped the grass as though it were the only consolation left to him.

In the swirl of thoughts rushing through his head, a sudden call captured his attention and held it. A sound was echoing through him, something strange, and very far off. The elf's eyes snapped wide, and he trembled when he realized that he knew.

He knew what the sound was, even though he had never heard it:

Gulls.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_Valar, please don't let this be true..._

Arwen stood like a stone pillar at Aragorn's back, hands covering her mouth. When they had first seen him, she thought nothing could be more terrible than having to endure such agony. But then he had gone still, and she watched in horror as her love wept for his childhood friend. Her mind wandered involuntarily to an image given her by Elrohir, in a bright, sunlit vale.

))_A small, dark-headed boy of six sat in the grass beneath an oak tree, looking up with curiosity at the blond wood-elf lounging gracefully on one of its branches. He watched with his hands folded on his stomach as the child weaved a small tapestry out of grass and twigs, leaning back against the trunk with a small smile on his face._

_'My name's Estel. What's yours?'_

_'You may call me Legolas, young one.' His tone was relaxed, brimming with contentment. He sounded almost sleepy._

_'Legolas.' The boy tried it out. 'I like that name. You're all over here.'_

_A puzzled look. 'What?'_

_The child pointed. 'There's a green leaf, and there's a green leaf, and there's a green leaf- There's lots of you.'_

_A string of musical laughter. 'So I see.'_

_He looked back down at his task, his small brow furrowed in concentration. 'I'd like it if we got to be friends. That way, even if you went home, I could still see you.' His tone was distracted._

_'I would like that too, young one.'_

_The little boy looked up again, a pleased smile on his face. 'Does that mean we can be friends?'_

_More laughter. 'But of course!_'((

The prince laughed into silence, the lingering sunlight fading away along with it. It was replaced with darkness, and Legolas' blood-stained body lying limp in the arms of a dark-headed man. Now, eighty-one years later, the Dunadan was grown to full manhood, bereft of his first, best companion and wounds burning within him that would never heal. Now Estel the Man cried out his anguish, sobbing quietly into the elf's chest and clutching the body to his own.

And not even a single spot of green was left to comfort him.

Arwen was startled out her reverie by a wracking cry from the far side of the room. Her brother had stumbled blindly to the wall of stalagmites and fallen to a sitting position in the arms of a human woman. Elrohir must have known her, for the dark-blond Edan was trying in vain to calm him, calling his name while tears flowed freely down her face.

"Lord El-Elrohir, please-" she begged, haltingly. "My lord, you mustn't blame yourself; it wasn't your fault-"

He was staring in horror at Legolas, clinging to her encompassing arms and shaking his head, muttering to himself. His voice trembled with hysteria. "No- Elladan- we- I-I've- I have k-killed him, Elladan- I've-"

Elrohir sucked in a breath and cried out in an agony that far surpassed any he'd experienced at the hands of the Uruks, eyes shut tight and dripping with hot tears.

The cry was so plaintive and rang with such unbearable loss that it struck her like a blow in its un-Elven harshness, and two crystalline droplets streaked swiftly down her cheeks. Arwen saw her sibling twist in the blond woman's arms and bury his face into his hands as if to hold himself together, pressing his palms painfully into his eyes. She looked up helplessly and met Arwen's gaze, pleading; the poor woman obviously had no clue what to do.

The she-elf forced herself to move, tearing away from Aragorn's side and stepping lightly to the Rohirrim woman. Her voice was soft, almost inaudible. "_Muindor...?_ Brother?" Arwen tried again, louder this time. "Elrohir?" She sniffed softly, attempting to get her own breathing under control, but it was no use. Erhia's gaze met hers briefly, and they both looked away.

Elrohir was crying inconsolably into the shoulder of her rough dress, and she held him to her as if he were her own child. "He doesn't hear," Erhia murmured through his ebony locks.

When his cries subsided into softer sobs of guilt, she tried again. "Elrohir," Arwen pleaded, more urgently this time, the elvish rolling swiftly and smoothly off her tongue. "Elrohir, please, look at me. It is Arwen. Come back to me, my brother," she begged him. The she-elf lay a hand on his head, attempting to calm him with her presence.

It failed, or so she thought. The Noldor was digging his fingernails into his temples, drawing blood, quaking in anger, frustration and utter anguish.

"I have killed him, Arwen," he said brokenly, startling her. "It is my fault..."

_ Valar, help him bear this..._

"No," she said sternly, trying with all her might to gain control of her voice. "It was not your fault, Elrohir. Legolas... Legolas chose to save you. He did what he thought was necessary, what he thought was right. He saved your lives, _muindor_."

"No- n-no," the twin sobbed, every word shaking. "It wasn't supposed to happen this way- It wasn't- It wasn't his time- Oh Valar, Elbereth, please-"

"Elrohir-"

He pulled away from Erhia's embrace, spun around and wrapped both arms around his sister, squeezing her so tightly she could barely breathe. His long legs curled underneath him and there he knelt, sobbing into her stomach and letting the grief overtake him completely.

It was too much for her to bear. Arwen looked with wide, reddened eyes at the human opposite her, holding her brother numbly as he wept, and she cried with him, two immortals mourning the loss of their dearest friend. And as they sat there immobile in each other's arms, Arwen couldn't help but wonder:

_If it is this... painful... with Legolas... How will I ever bear it when Estel...?_

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

To any other being, (besides perhaps Sauron or an orc,) the view would have been breathtaking. But with the heavy veil of foreboding blanketing his vision, Elrond Peredhil was not even slightly moved by its beauty. It had been hours over the glistening snow, long and tiring but for the driving urgency of his sons' call, and even the misty mountains were nothing more than an obstacle in a father's path.

"Are you well, Lord Elrond?" Gwaihir questioned below him. "You have been... how do you say... fidgeting? For the past two hours."

The elf lord blushed slightly in embarrassment. "My apologies, Lord Gwaihir."

"It is forgiven. If it were my hatchlings, the Valar know I'd be preening." The deliberate lack of humor in the solemn eagle's tone almost made him smile as he tried to picture a nervous Gwaihir.

_**LEGOLAS!**_

"Unh!" Elrond slammed forward into the eagle lord's back, making him spin to regain his composure and not get knocked out of the sky. He gave a piercing cry, dipped sharply into a patch of cold cloud and arced back toward the open air, mist spilling from his enormous wings.

Gwaihir looked over his shoulder to see the elf lord sprawled out on top of him, his hair in disarray, wine-coloured robes billowing behind them, clutching his head as though in great pain. His eyes were wide and uncomprehending, and the eagle knew he was in the midst of a vision. "Lord Elrond," he called gently.

The dark-haired half-elf started and blinked away the fog over his eyes. His breath came in halting gasps. "The... The prince..." Elrond managed.

"Prince Legolas?"

"He has done something terrible... I no longer fear for my sons, Gwaihir, but for him. It may be too late." _Oh, Valar, I beg of you. Thranduil will not be able to accept this. If Legolas dies..._ The dark-haired elf lord shook himself out of his trauma-induced stupor and tried carefully to sit upright on his mount's back. "Please hurry, my friend," Elrond implored him. "We must reach Helm's Deep and find my son."

"Of course, Elrond." The eagle's tone was low and comforting, deliberately losing the elf-lord's title as he dived into the fog.

An hour passed in silence and mist, until finally they broke through the field of clouds and were looking upon a field of a different kind. _Rohan_. The boulders that shouldered their way through the grassy hills dotted them like pebbles from their vantage point, and the darkness on the horizon could be seen spreading like a blackening stain on beautifully patterned cloth.

"We must find Mithrandir; perhaps he can aid us here. Go towards the Deep, but pass over the plains a bit slower. We may see who else is here," Elrond said distractedly.

A faint shout caught Elrond's attention and he pointed in its direction. Gwaihir needed no further instruction, and Elrond prayed as they lowered to the ground that they would make it before the prince ran out of time.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

It didn't make sense. Nothing made sense any more.

Only minutes ago, Legolas had been admitting to putting worms in his boots, and reliving their times at Rivendell. Now he had disappeared from their lives, and he would never come back. Never smile again, never comfort him again, never be there at his back where they could count on one another. Never speak to the trees again, never sing. Never argue with Gimli over the best place to hold celebrations, be it caves or forests.

As time wore on, the pain grew. Aragorn was startled at how badly it hurt him. Legolas was growing cold in his arms, and the limp limbs were beginning to stiffen and freeze in place. The ranger was at a loss; his heart seemed to be growing colder with him. Arwen was across from him, holding Elrohir as he wept, and the warmth of his own tears was lost in the skin of ice surrounding him. A sob shook his frame and he buried his head deeper into his friend's chest.

The dwarf next to him had cursed violently and left, hurrying up the passage to the keep. Aragorn strongly suspected he was crying, and wanted to be alone in his grief. Minutes later, he lifted his head and stared blankly into Legolas' white face. He looked like he had fallen asleep, but the more he thought about it the worse the pain became. The elf was not sleeping, and lying to himself would not make him come back.

The pounding in his ears took shape, and he realized the elves above him were on the march into Helm's Deep. _Too late_. Slowly the ranger stood, carrying the elf like a baby in his strong arms, tears tracking down his otherwise calm face. He was drained; nothing mattered now. He felt nothing.

Nothing, save for the hatred he had for the beings responsible for this, and the revenge he would take for his friend.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"I come with word from Elrond of Rivendell. An alliance once existed between Elves and Men. We fought and died together. We come to honor that allegiance," Haldir stated formally, inclining his head.

"I thank you for your help, Master elf, and your lord as well," Theoden said with gratitude, bowing slightly in return. "Lord Aragorn is also here, I will have him-"

"Ai... Lord Haldir..." The Lothlorien elf looked up at the soft murmur from the elven footsoldier beside him, and his heart stopped.

Theoden turned, and behind him at the top of the stairs stood Aragorn. The ranger looked quite haggard, and his eyes were so reddened they looked painful. He had obviously been weeping for a long while, and wept still, but at the moment his face could have been porcelain. Aragorn's pale cheeks and brow were neutral, completely still.

But worse, to everyone's shock and horror, the prince of Mirkwood lay unmoving in the Dunadan's arms, his head tilted back and lolling, exposing a white throat. The ranger had both arms beneath his prone form, the only thing supporting the body.

The prince's lips were tinged blue, and his body was covered in slashes. The most disturbing and most grieving of all, his stomach had apparently been slit, and the gaping wound had poured blood over both of them. Aragorn's hands were stained red, and he descended the steps slowly, moving toward Haldir with the utmost care for the corpse he held against him. One arm lay over the prince's waist and the other hung lifelessly from Aragorn's grasp, swinging slightly as he walked.

When he reached the middle step and moved into view of the Elven soldiers, a great cry was raised. The solid ranks of elves were almost broken and a great wail of anguish was taken up by the army.

"Prince Legolas!"

"The prince has been killed!"

"No!"

"Ai, Thranduilion is dead!"

"Elbereth..."

"The prince!"

Aragorn finally reached Haldir at the last of the steps, kneeling before him. As one, the ranks went to their knees, touching the tips of their fingers to their hearts and solemnly bowing their heads.

The Lothlorien elf's eyes were wide in sorrowed disbelief. "Prince Legolas," he breathed, hands raised above the body as though he wasn't sure what to do. Aragorn stared into space, tears still coursing down the well-traversed path to his chin. Haldir saw the emptiness in his eyes and his own vision became clouded.

"Oh Estel," he whispered. "Forgive me."

Aragorn looked up at him slowly, and a hard edge lined his grey gaze. "The Uruks are approaching. I will have my revenge, and so will you."

The Dunadan placed Legolas tenderly in Haldir's arms, and directed his speech at the soldiers, raising his voice. "My brothers, hear me. Saruman's army seeks to destroy us all. The Uruk-hai have taken your prince, killed your people, and would relish in the destruction of all free peoples of Arda. We will not let this stand. We will have our revenge for this outrage."

Fire was slowly rekindling in his features as he spoke.

"They have killed Legolas Thranduilion, and for that they will pay! We will decorate our swords with their blood, and they will fall as Legolas fell! Let the evil of Sauron and Saruman fall and die by our hands!"

A great shout from Elf and Man alike sounded over the plains as the elves of Middle-earth swore their revenge for their dead prince, and all prepared to kill... and be killed.

~0~

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

~0~

Reviews are very cool.

SOOO sorry this took so long! Hope you liked Elrond's thing. He has a much more complicated problem in a very short while. Thank my friend David for that; he has such great suggestions. It was even an accident that he mentioned what I have planned next. Hope you like!

Again, if you like this story, check out 'Immortal Stranger' too. It's a little something that was cutting off the flow of created juices and had to get it out. Go ahead and read those author's notes to see why it took so long. I love Christmas, but GEEZ I hate the Christmas season. It's heck for musicians.

'Ta! Review and gimme some encouragement!


	10. Chapter 10: An Alternate Path

Okay, I noticed again, this STUPID program is deleting my triple periods and other things... I apologize if the punctuation is wrong, but it isn't my fault; I put it in. Ooookay, here's a short update. I shall elaborate later.

I figure you guys want a chapter more than review responses, but I'll try next chappie. SAWWY!

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"This like a dream

Keeps other time

And daytime is the loss of this;

For time is inches

And the heart's changes,

Where ghost has haunted

Lost and wanted..."

W. H. Auden, excerpt from "This Lunar Beauty"

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

~0~

**Chapter Ten: An Alternate Path**

~0~

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Gulls.

Elladan was certain of it, there was no other explanation. Rohan birds wouldn't be out this late in the evening, and they never cried like this. There was such sorrow in it that it nearly made him sob.

_Why am I hearing them?_ he wondered, tears still streaking his face as shock pulled him from his shroud of sorrow. For a few moments he simply sat there, listening to the whisper of the wind and the feeling of cool, slightly damp air flooding over him, watching the endless, full grey of the clouds. The elf was incapable of doing anything else.

After a while the question came back to him, inanely._ The cry of the gull means the end of our time in Middle-earth. So why..._

Realization hit like an iron weight, nearly sending stars into his vision. He knew.

_The connection is still there_.

Somehow during the severing and compromise of the different bonds, one 'line' had remained untouched. A sort of echo, faint but definitely there, was physically in his ears. It was as though he were at the edge of the Grey Havens, awaiting his time to board the ships. Elladan stood motionless, on his knees in the stretch of field, starlight collecting in a perfect glow on his skin and illuminating his harsh features.

The elf's wet eyes were tortured.

_Oh Legolas..._

The prince was well on his way to the White Shores, but even now, there was a wisp of... what? A sort of spiritual residue residing on the walls of the twin's mind. The meaning of what Elladan was truly seeing took form, and a nameless decree imprinted itself onto his thoughts.

_One of us..._ one _of us must leave...?_

The Noldor elf shuddered. The feel of death was everywhere, and the further he delved into his own spirit the more frightening it became. It was a black hole, a tunnel beyond which the light surely reigned but still could not be seen. That void, that lack of certainty, was overwhelming.

Moments passed in silence save for the soft, caressing voice of the breeze, and Elladan's senses suddenly heightened, as though taking in all they could before all was taken from him. With these moments, the elf contemplated exactly what it would mean if the responsibility truly lay on his shoulders.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_There are so many._

Saruman had indeed done a thorough job creating his warriors. All of them were enormous, disgusting, over-muscled beasts whose only thought seemed to be directed toward slaughter. The monstrous things looked as if they were rotting away at the seams, chipped and scarred from whatever battles they had happened to survive. Some of the more recent additions were covered in a film of slime, and the eyes glared crazily in shades of horrid green and sickly yellow. The mouths were a spoiled, crooked mess of teeth filled with black holes and cracks, gaping and dripping thick saliva onto the metal plating encompassing them.

The weapons matched their masters in size, width, and sheer strength, about as beaten and worn as the Uruk-hai themselves. Literal waves of the enemy forces drew nigh on the horizon, and shivers crept up and down numerous spines as their roars shook the ground; that jarring cacophony born of throats raw from use.

Some shivered and shook in the path of these fell beasts, but the dark figure atop the Deeping wall made no move, save for a resolved tightening of his grip on a sword. Aragorn's tears had dried on high cheekbones and lay soaked in the fabric of his tunic, slipping easily between the metal mesh and reclining on his breast as a solemn tribute to the closeness of his beloved friend. The eyes once blurred and red with crying now burned a fiery blue from the dark, dirtied brown of his skin, death promised swiftly and unerring to the monsters he so carefully scrutinized below him.

Behind him, a wall of elvish soldiers stood just as motionless, golden armour sleek and gleaming in lightning, the opposite of the dark warriors before them in every respect. Bloodlust of a different kind filled the air toward the archers, each line still but not without overwhelming, palpable spirit.

Their prince was dead because of these creatures, and now they were going to pay.

_They will know pain. Of that I will make sure_. "Show them no mercy!" Aragorn shouted, turning to pace the ranks and seeing that each one of them heard him. "For you shall receive none!" Perhaps it was just his imagination or wishful thinking, but an even harder glint seemed to grow in each pair of crystalline eyes.

Theoden watched with shadows in his eyes as the murderous Uruks grew closer, shouting foul, unintelligible things to each other through the dark, marching feet making the stone move visibly around them and growing palpably heavier with every step. A sudden _ping_ to his left made him start slightly, but he returned his attentions forward when the next sound of water on metal pinged across the keep. Soon everyone down the last archer was drenched as the sky cried for the deaths that neared.

"So it begins," he murmured, almost to himself, eyes hard with lack of naivete.

_May we die well._

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Arwen wasn't sure how much more of this she could take. And it had only been a few minutes. Everyone was so frightened, and Elrohir had still been weeping, albeit quietly, in her arms. A few minutes ago he'd cried himself into sleep, or unconsciousness, she couldn't be sure. She had the very unsettling feeling that he didn't care if he ever woke again. A few of the women next to her were holding their sons and daughters in their own laps, and it was painful how much Elrohir's form in her own resembled the innocence of a sleeping child.

Praying to the Valar for guidance, she laid her head upon his.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Finally Elladan stirred, hands white and clenched in fists in his lap.

_It is time_. Kneeling alone in the field, Elladan knew he had lain too long in delay, though it didn't make him any more eager to continue. He took a brief moment to apologize to their father, hoping that he would understand the sacrifice he would make. Readying the passage, he closed his eyes, took a deep, thorough breath and focused his thoughts on Elrohir, preparing himself for this soon-to-be difficult moment.

His last moment.

"Brother...?"

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Elrohir's head shot up in alarm and his eyes were wide as he searched for the source of the voice. Instantly Arwen knew something was wrong. His posture told much, but his next utterance told all:

"Elladan?"

_Elladan is there?_ Arwen's eyebrows shot up and she took his cheek in one soft hand. "Elrohir, is he near? What does he tell you?"

A handful of the women and children had turned their heads in their direction, some in fear of the loud echo being heard, some in curiosity, some in concern. He felt Elladan looking through his eyes, taking in the sights of Arwen and the refugees, as though memorizing them. When he finally answered, he was so quiet that physically he was almost inaudible, though it didn't matter with the bond:

_El. I don't want you to grieve. All right? I know this will not be any easier for you..._

"What?" The twin's confusion was painful, childish. "What do you mean?"

_I can't let him do this. I cannot_. His voice was firm, but still gentle, reminding him of Legolas' final words to him. _It is my fault that you had to pay such a price, and it is my fault that Legolas..._ The thought trailed into oblivion._ I... I need you to be strong. I will not allow this, I... I cannot._

"Brother, what..." A horrifying thought occurred to him, and the reason for Elladan's soft, soothing tone was explained. His eyes filled with fear and he was shaking his head before he even realized it. "No! No, Elladan!"

_Goodbye, El. We are always together, remember?_ He could hear the thinly masked tears in his voice, trying to sound and feel cheerful. _Tell Ada and Arwen how much I love them. And tell Estel that... I have... corrected a... a wrong... a mistake of my own making..._

Elrohir nearly went into hysterics, and Arwen blood chilled with the next words from her sibling's mouth:

"No, Elladan, it wasn't your fault! Do not leave, do not leave me too! He's," the younger twin faltered, fighting past the grief, "he is gone, El, we cannot bring him back! Don't do this!" The twin scrabbled from Arwen's embrace and struggled to rise, slipping hard on his knees and pausing, hand outstretched, staring with shocked blue eyes beyond the blank stone wall before him.

"Elladan," he choked, face draining of expression, white and exhausted.

Slowly, his outstretched fingers dropped. He knew it was no use. "No, brother. I... I love you," he concluded with difficulty, admitting defeat with the tortured whisper.

_I know_. The simple phrase said more than he could have ever hoped to say to his twin. He felt a wide smile, Elladan's final gift to him, caressing his thoughts.

_And I love you_.

Then, startlingly, there was nothing. The passage, the connection between them suddenly snapped, jolting, agonizing, and blank nothingness was left before his eyes.

"El," he whispered.

Then Arwen and Erhia screamed as his eyes closed and he fell to the floor.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Air. Fresh, clear air, more pure than any Mirkwood had ever offered. The feeling was incredible: no restraints, no fear, no pain. No worry. Just air and beautiful, blinding light.

Legolas knew where he was and where he was heading at this high speed, and he had accepted it surprisingly well. The hardest part had been the pain, then letting go. Now that was over. The twins would live, they would help Estel through the grief, provided they survived.

_Survived?_ That was it. _The army_.

A nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach, at least, where his stomach would've been, took on a shape and a meaning: guilt. He was abandoning his friends to almost certain destruction and taking the easy way out.

What if he'd saved Elladan and Elrohir only to have them even more brutally tortured and killed by the Uruk-hai, or worse: what if they were turned?

He realized abruptly that the white around him had faded into grey, and the air was no longer moving. No, he was no longer moving through the air. To Legolas' dismay he saw the light was fading further. Not disappearing, but definitely not as intense as before. Everything radiated his indecision.

_No!_ Pain was building in his breast now. He didn't want to stop, didn't want to go back. _The twins are there with the humans, and more Eldar have arrived to fight. They have more than a chance. If I were still with them, the odds wouldn't be increased by much_. The prince's mind was racing, trying to come up with reasons not to go back.

_I gave my life for Elladan and Elrohir's... If I went back now, I..._

A golden hand was reaching for him, coming down after him the way he'd came. Legolas found himself crying out as hot fingers gripped his shoulder, burning him with the fire of life. The prince begged, pleaded with it not to take him.

_Leave me be, he cried. No, do not! You cannot do this! _The entity was uncomprehending and did not yield to his agonized protests. Resistance was met with equal force, and it engulfed him in despair.

_I can escape this. If I break his grip for only a moment, I will pass through the gates. They will be safe. _

The thought encouraged him, and he strove wildly to free himself, praying he'd make it through...

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Elrond knew that the past day had been beyond horrible for his sons. The visions from the caves were terrifying and brutal, even nearly knocking him into unconsciousness. All aspects had been traumatizing, the mistreatment hard and wearing them down to their last nerve. So the elf-lord was, at the very least, shocked to see his eldest son kneeling calmly in the midst of the Riddermark without so much as a scratch.

Gwaihir looked over one sleek wing at Elrond. "I will take you both to Thengel's son in the Deep," he told him. "Gather your fledgling quickly. We may be able to arrive before the battle."

The Noldor thanked him and waited for the King of the Eagles to land. As soon as he touched down, Elrond leapt gracefully from the beast's back and ran to his son where he knelt in the weeds. "Elladan? Elladan, my son..."

Just as he reached him, the younger elf fell backward into his arms, face pale as death, eyes irrevocably closed, making his father cry out in alarm. He pulled him upright against his shoulder, trying to wake him.

"Elladan!"

Gwaihir approached in an awkward hopping walk, examining the stricken elf sternly. "He is dying, " he observed. "Of his own choice no less."

_To save Legolas_, a nagging thought reminded him. "Oh, no," he breathed looking frantically over his son's limp body. Immediately the source of his ailment became apparent to his spirit, and he clamped down over the connection with unparalleled ferocity. _Come back, Elladan_, he urged him._ Return to me, my son. If I have you here, perhaps I can save you both_.

Moments dragged by like sharpened pins through skin. After a full quarter of an hour, Elrond's heart had sunk nearly to his knees. "Gwaihir, I cannot make the connection," he gritted in frustration enough to cry. "He has severed all bonds to himself save Legolas in an attempt to bring him back."

The eagle's countenance was grim. "This does not bode well," he remarked. "You do not have the power alone to return his_ fea_. If he has gone that far into the world of the dead, it is dangerous to attempt reentry of the _fea_ into the body. It would require more power."

Elrond was cradling his son against him, stroking his hair and focusing on Gwaihir's calm words with all possible intensity to keep from going mad. His eyes traced the outline of his child's sweet face, the slender nose, fine cheek bones, the thick, dark eyelashes resting on paper-white skin.

_Skin like his mother's. He carries so much of her_, he lamented. The elf-lord was distraught beyond measure.

_Valar, please give me a sign_, he prayed. _I must save him. You made him an immortal, you did not intend for him to die..._

His shaking fingers caressed the younger elf's features and fumbled with his long, silky tresses, until a small blue gleam caught his eye. It was a slight sparkle, nothing more, but it drew his eyes to the ring settled on the index finger of his right hand.

Vilya.

An idea went racing through his mind, so fleeting it was barely consciously understood. "I could use Vilya's power to draw him." He was voicing it even as he realized it. "That would lead him to its source, here. It could be done! He would be..." Then the other side of the scale showed its weight.

_But as soon as I used it, Sauron would know. The dark lord's minions would be upon us in seconds, and I could be turned, forced to carry out his commands_.

"Elrond, we haven't much time." The eagle's voice was firm, but not unfeeling. "Make your decision." He stood straightened majestically with his head held high, eyes never leaving the elf's features as he waited for the Firstborn's answer.

Lord Elrond's brow furrowed deeply. Elladan lay blissfully unaware in his father's embrace, head resting in the crook of his arm, unmoving. The life of his son... or the lives of thousands more in Middle-earth. _Valar, why did you give me such a choice to make?_ he thought pleadingly.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Hold!"

The old man was standing atop his post, utterly taken-aback. The Uruk he'd nailed with his arrow fell as though in slow motion, signaling the bloodlust to commence fulfillment. Snarls grew in volume and the first wave of Uruk-hai came on.

~0~


	11. Chapter 11: Evil Takes Hold

Okay peoples, I am back and officially six months late on my updates, as usual. Hah! I AM BACK WITH A VENGEANCE! Let's go!

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

~0~

**Chapter Eleven: Evil Takes Hold**

~0~

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Elrohir? Elrohir, please wake!"

Arwen had taken the unconscious twin to their corner, wrapping him safely in her arms. She and Erhia had been trying to wake him for what seemed like hours while the sounds of war reached them from aboveground. Tears were streaking the elf woman's face. She knew that he wasn't dead, but it had nearly scared the life out of her when he'd fallen to the ground. Erhia was so absorbed in his welfare that her hands were white and bloodless from clenching into such tight fists.

"Is he alive? Is he going to live?" she whispered, seeking the elf maiden's eyes with her own, features taut with fear.

"I believe so. But he won't wake, and I feel that something terrible has happened," Arwen answered tersely.

"He spoke of the other one."

The she-elf closed her eyes in pain. He was dead, and she knew it. Their connection had faded along with Elrohir's bond, and there would be no reparation. "He is gone," she answered softly.

"He was so close to him," the woman murmured. There was a short silence as she was lost in thought.

"Gaered... My husband is out there right now. He is mortal, and a soldier. Your brothers are of the Firstborn. And yet I wonder... We are Men, but perhaps our fate will not be unlike theirs." Arwen felt a pull in her heart at these words, so similar to ones she had uttered years prior.

"Estel... Lord Aragorn is my love," she whispered, barely speaking. "I believe in him. I will stand by him, just as you surely stand by your husband."

"Aye," Erhia gave her quiet assent.

"_Elladan..._" someone groaned.

Erhia's eyes were wide and frightened, and she pulled away as if from a snarling, rabid dog. Arwen looked down at her brother's face, confused at what would make her draw away... and then she saw his expression.

Whoever was looking at her through her brother's features, it was not Elrohir.

The once mostly-blue eyes burned a fiery green that was strangely dark and foreboding despite its piercing intensity, venting only a small part of the raging fire beneath. His lip was curled maliciously, twitching in anger and forming a snarl similar to that of an enraged warg, with small ripples of flesh overlapping in the crease above his nostril. His hair seemed not a glossy brown but flat, nondescript black, and the firelight was giving his face an unusual and unsettling yellowish tint.

Erhia nearly yelped when the elf suddenly rose, sitting up from his waist and rising to his feet. Everyone in the cave-hold who had been shivering in silence from fear of the orcs was now silent due to a different kind of fear.

"El-Elrohir?"

The older man guarding the entrance cringed when the elf neared him, reaching down on the boulder beside him that was stacked with rusted blades and picking up a large, serrated weapon probably stolen from the Uruk-hai themselves. Elrohir looked at the blade as though contemplating whether it would be good enough, or perhaps inflict enough pain. Then his eyes hardened further, and with stiff, almost machine-like strides he began walking up the pathway toward open air- and battle.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Within seconds, Elrond knew his choice had been made. There was no way he could use Vilya, there were too many lives at stake to do so. But as Gwaihir had stated, there was not enough power in him to bring Elladan back...

...without endangering his own life.

Elrond looked up at the grand eagle towering over his shoulder and their equally intense gazes locked. The wind was picking up, trying to carry away Elrond's hair and clothing while a single solitary feather was whisked away into the dark clouds and lightening flashing on the horizon. through the darkness, the elf lord begged Gwaihir with his eyes to forgive what he was doing, to condone it.

The eagle blinked in surprise. Then nodded, bowing his head.

Lord Elrond of Imladris looked down at his son's pale, unmoving face... and lowered his forehead to touch his child's.

A flash of blue light illuminated the plains for a brief moment before returning them to fields of black.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Legolas was caught fast within the void.

The hands gripping him had changed form, and the strength that was now ripping at his resolve was overwhelming. He could still see the light, the clouds, the beautiful shore ahead, and for a split-second he could see a familiar face within that sea of light.

"Naneth?"

The face smiled, dazzling, and for a moment he had found his peace. But then, the force holding him ground down anew and he was ripped painfully from the gateway, down, down, spiraling into darkness._ No!_ His last connection to that world had severed, there would be no return.

"NO! _NANETH!_"

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"NO!"

Aragorn watched in horror as the wall was breached, stone and debris flying in every direction. He was slammed into the ground by the wall of exploding rock, and as he lay there, unconscious, the soldiers hastened to cover the gap.

"To the wall! The _wall!_"

Hundreds of elven archers and foot soldiers had been sent tumbling from the once-sturdy stone, and now tens of bodies lay piled beneath the rubble or beyond it, some impaled by their own weapons, others with their necks broken or skulls crushed from the fall. Without this needed coverage, the humans were sent scattering in all directions, men running to defend the opening with fear in their eyes.

It was too late, the Uruk-hai were mowing down men and creating a safe passage for their kindred. Cries of triumph and anticipation were heard filling the courtyard behind the Deeping wall, or what was left of it as more and more men fell under the blackened blades of the orcs. Theoden watched helplessly, despair taking over his battered soul for the briefest of moments before he barked out more orders.

"_Everyone fall back!_"

The call was taken up by the men behind the drawbridge door, and barely in time. The battering ram erected soon after the battle's beginning finally succeeded in splintering the heavy wood, and the Uruks poured into the gateway like ants. A few of the soldiers in the back of the retreating line of Rohirrim fell as the monstrous creatures dragged them back under their feet, running them through or crushing them like insects.

"_Aragorn!_"

The Dunadan heard King Theoden shout his name, and his eyes opened to a wall of enemy forces closing in on where he lay. Bodies were strewn around him, some blackened from the explosion, others bloodied and broken by the orcs. Weakly the man put a hand beneath him, raising himself up from the ground with difficulty. His leg had been hit in the fall, and that slowed him maddeningly, despite the obvious urgency to retreat behind the inner walls.

His heart contracted at the piles of men and elves lying dead in the path to shelter, but nothing could be done, not even when he recognized a few of the elven faces. How long had it been since the fall? Hours? Minutes? The dead were so many that it seemed an eternity he must have been unconscious, but even more disturbing was the feeling that it had only been moments. Aragorn forced himself to run up the stone pathway into the keep, a horde of Uruk-hai at his heels.

The heavy wooden doors slammed shut just after he managed to limp into the halls.

Aragorn slid to the floor, his injured leg refusing to bear his weight any longer, panting with exhaustion and pain. A hard, heavy truth was lain upon him: they were not going to last the night. Theoden stood above him, armoured and eyes dull with acceptance.

Aragorn's eyes blazed into his. "I will not let it end this way," he spat, every word shaking with vehemence.

The king remained motionless, his face blank.

"Tell them to barricade the doors," he urged him. "Tell them to use anything they can; spears, tables, the throne, anything!"

Still he didn't move.

Aragorn rose, his leg screaming agony, shuddering with the effort. The Dunadan grabbed the king of Rohan by his chain mail collar and pulled Theoden's face directly in front of his own, shaking him roughly. "Don't you hear? They will be inside in minutes!" he shouted. "You cannot let them all die! Think of the families below, Theoden! Think of your men who still follow you! _Ride out!_ Send the evil that causes us such sorrow, such darkness, _back from whence it came!_"

The man looked startled as Aragorn's blue eyes burned into his with the intensity of a wound. "...ride...?"

"If this is the last of the warriors of Rohan," Aragorn pleaded, the change in his manner as sudden as the outburst before it, "then let them leave a story to inspire all of Middle-earth in their wake." He pulled the king's sword from its sheath and placed it into his hand. The Dunadan's expression was nothing short of shamelessly _begging_ him.

"Do not abandon them, Theoden."

The king stared back at him. The faintest flicker of life shone in the man's grey orbs.

"...I cannot," he whispered.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"...Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;

and all is seared with trade, bleared, smeared with toil;

and wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil

is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;

There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;

and though the last lights off the black West went

Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward springs-

Because the Holy Ghost over the bent

World broods with warm breast and with

ah! bright wings."

-Gerard Manley Hopkins

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

~0~


	12. Chapter 12: A Rude Awakening

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

~0~

**Chapter Twelve: A Rude Awakening**

~0~

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

There were heavy, lumbering footsteps approaching them: more than just one pair.

A lot more.

Eowyn's breath caught, her sword held at the ready just in front of her breast. If they found the opening to the caves, the entire clan of Rohirrim would be decimated. Her people would be extinct, no more than a memory. Her grip tightened on the hilt, eyes narrowed into dangerous slits, her jaw set in a straight line.

She wasn't going to let them go without a fight.

The footsteps were nearing her; it was easy to make out the individual clatter and scraping of metal against metal as they walked, trying to go slowly to surprise anyone who might be lurking in the darkened halls. The leader growled something unintelligible, and the footsteps following him silenced, making the leader's approach even more distinct.

A few steps closer the thing drew; Eowyn could almost feel its hot breath on her face-

Suddenly, the pained cry of a dying Uruk cut through the air. The creatures heard, starting in surprise and retreated, running with clanking shields and tapping armour toward the outer wall from where the cry had sounded.

The woman released her deep breath, the one she had been so sure was to be her last. With wondering eyes, she regarded the mouth of the cave before her. _What happened? That shouting..._

More hoarse bellowing followed the first, in different voices. Now the Rohirrim shield maiden was completely baffled. Everyone had retreated behind the second wall after that deafening explosion; she had heard the order given. Yet even now, Orcs were dying out there. Eowyn turned and ran back to the caves to prepare the women to move, a single other thought enveloping her mind:

Who was slaying, and who was being slain?

~0~

"Fall back! _Fall back, you maggots!_"

A commanding Uruk tried to force his men into retreat, but they were dead and headless before he even finished the sentence.

"Why y_-GHK!_" The first in command fell, shortly followed by his arms _and_ his head.

The beasts were backing away in what appeared to actually be fear of this newcomer. The Uruk-hai had taken up positions against the doors, ready to break them down, when a dark shape materialized from what they thought had been a sealed passage. Everyone within twenty feet of it had taken up the cry of _"elf!"_ in seconds, but none had lived long enough to move to dispatch it.

With a shrieking roar of insane, unbridled rage, the elf leapt atop the stone wall overlooking the battle, one of their own ragged swords held mockingly in one hand, the fierce winds catching the creature's flowing black mane and floating it up in the gales as though possessed by alternate forces.

All Uruks had tales told them about the dreaded elves, but this seemed to rival even the worst of stories.

It was male, and it was small compared to them, but its eyes glowed like the forging fires of hell, ready to take all of them back down with him. Its chest heaved with unimaginable anger, and a hunger for vengeance that could not- _would_ not be sated lurked in the luminous green depths of those eyes. Raising the sword high above him, the elf threw back his head let loose a scream- no, an animalistic _roar _that rivalled the orcs'- and jumped off the edge of the wall in a swan dive directly into the army nearest the gates.

The speed and sheer strength which the elf shattered armor, sliced through helmets and cut through bone and muscle was uncanny. There was no stopping it, there was no killing it, and the stirrings of fear swept through the orc army.

"Come on, you worms, there's on'y one of 'im!" shouted a catlike Uruk. "Finish him off!"

"Take him down! _Forward!_" gurgled another, spitting green juices from its mouth as the elf screamed, lashing out with a chilling cry that crescendoed into oblivion.

Both of them were sliced clean in half by the blade of their own making.

The creature was a whirlwind of spinning steel meeting filthy flesh, attacking, attacking again, and again, and again, leaving no room for thought. In mere moments, the elf had made a circle of fallen warriors sprawled in the mud like fallen redwoods, roughly fifty orcs dead beneath his feet.

The Uruks shouted a great battle cry and made for him with spear and sword and arrow, but none of them affected the elf any more than to add to his already predatory appearance: the blades that reached for him tore at his clothing and ruffled his hair into an even more ragged-looking warrior, eyes still blazing from beneath the dark strands of hair in his face. His lips curled in a snarl, revealing white teeth that for some reason looked incredibly sharp, and he shot forward into and _through_ the Uruk nearest him, leaving his entrails in a pile behind him a few moments before the beast realized it was dead.

Thousands of orcs screamed in terror and outrage, charging head on. The elf spat blood as he turned on the next warrior.

It was not his own.

~0~

"I cannot."

The ranger stared at King Theoden in utter disbelief. "Theoden..."

His eyes were laid bare with grief, defeat, and a bitter weariness that had consumed his soul. "I cannot help them. You were right, Aragorn. You were right from the beginning. We should have called for help while we still could." The king of Rohan's face was twisted in despair. "The elves joined us only to fall to their doom. And now... there is nothing left."

The Dunadan wanted to shout at him, to cry out that they could still retain their dignity, their valour, but his gaze did not reach the king. Darkness had him in its grasp, and there didn't seem to be anything that could pull him back.

Aragorn knew something was wrong even before he heard the cry:

"_RrrrrrrRRRAAAAAAAGHH!_"

A voice that was not orc. Someone was still outside, and they were alive.

And angry.

The banging of the Uruks against the doors had ceased and now a great commotion had overtaken the entire army. A few Rohirrim came running frantically back and forth across the room, bringing more material for barricades: tables, chairs, even a cart, while the others stayed behind, ready to bodily slam themselves against the doors should the Orcs return their atttention to entering the throne room.

"What has happened?" the ranger demanded of a sentry that had just rushed in from below. "What is going on out there?"

"My lord," the man panted, his helmet askew, "I'm sorry, we tried to stop him, but- the elf- he escaped from the caves- took a sword and went up the passage-"

_Elrohir?_

"What?" Aragorn whispered.

"I am sorry-"

"Elrohir!" he exclaimed, eyes wide. The Dunadan shot into the nearby doorway, cape flying and feet pounding against the hard stone, running at top speed to a secret exit in the outer wall, leaving the sentry crying out in shock and calling for his lord to come back.

~0~

Haldir had lived through much, and seen many battles, but even in his countless years, the outcome of this fight was looking more grim than anything he had before witnessed. The elf was bloodied, bruised, and wheezing slightly, but his hurts were not serious, and he and his second in command had made it inside before the maelstrom of orcs crashed into the gates.

"My lord, how should we regroup with the humans?" breathed his captain, a sturdy, armour-clad elf with dark hair and a stern face, his skin caked with grime.

"We'll have to use the secret entrance," he whispered back, the elvish rolling off his tongue like water. "Sheath your sword. If we're silent, they shouldn't see. Most of their attention is on and the main doors, and he seems to be holding his own."

The captain harrumphed quietly. Elrond's son was _much_ more than merely "holding his own".

"Let's split up. We'll meet back in the hollow where the prince's body is laid," Haldir told him quietly, his throat constricting as he mentioned Legolas' remains.

His second-in-command nodded, bowing his head at the mention of Mirkwood's former prince. "T'will be done, my lord."

Haldir's blue eyes grew cold as he watched the Uruk-hai trying to fend off the son of Elrond. His heart bled for him; he could see how much pain lay on the young elf's soul at the loss of his friend. Something else nagged at him as well, as though something was not right with him beyond even Legolas' passing, but time was of the essence.

The Lothlorien elf began his descent from the small hollow in the broken wall, stepping to the ground below without a sound.

~0~

Pain was slowly overtaking him as feeling was regained in his extremities.

_No... Ai, no,_ he lamented, weeping bitterly. _Why did you pull me away? I cannot... Ai, I cannot bear this-_

It was burning now. Legolas was almost reaching the end of his limit. All he wanted was to return to that paradise, those white shores and the face of his mother smiling tenderly at him. But the arms, those wretched arms, had pulled him back into the depths of oblivion, and now that he was waking, everything was wrong.

_Where am I-? Take me back! Please, Valar, take me back_, he cried. There was no answer.

Flashes of white and blue slithered through the darkness that was his surroundings, and each time there was a jolt that shook him to the core. He was writhing in a sea of black, hellish flames searing his body, his lungs screaming-

_NO! Where are you taking me-? **Leave me alone!**_

There was no answer from the merciless grip that kept him trapped in this dark hell, this place of punishment. He _was_ alone. The elven prince fought with all his might, but he had no strength, no strength, and a body that didn't exist...

The last thing Legolas remembered before being thrown into unimaginable agony was a pair of grey-blue eyes that watched over him like those of an angel.

~0~

Haldir was crouched carefully in a space inside the damaged wall that had mercifully been left untouched and undiscovered. The passage to the throne room lay directly ahead, although narrow, and the prince's corpse had been laid with the utmost care in the underground halls, where it was thought it would remain undisturbed. The Lorien elf almost wished he didn't have to go this way; it was still so painful to see the young elf in such ruin, pale, torn and sullied by death.

His captain, having taken the roundabout way inside the inner wall, leapt into the opening and landed on his feet hunched over, fitting easily into the hollow.

"Come," he mouthed, and the two of them crawled in a crouch through the extremely tight spaces toward the entrance.

Someone had lit torches before the battle began, far enough down so that the light would remain hidden until one climbed all the way into the passage. The two elves extricated themselves from the long, jagged tunnel into the flat-bottomed hallway that intersected with the path to the throne room. A bier was set up longways inside the main hall, a makeshift tribute to their royal highness.

Haldir's eyes glossed over with tears once again as he laid eyes on the young prince. _Oh, young one..._

"My lord, we should go," the captain murmured, though not without compassion. He had loved the Mirkwood elf as much as the rest of his people.

Haldir looked at him with eyes that pleaded for just a little time. "I want to take him back with us," he managed. "He is alone here... If the orcs should discover him, I..."

The captain bowed his head. "I understand, my lord."

"Help me," he ordered, reaching for Legolas' arm and beginning to pull him up over his shoulder. The moment he touched him, though, a great flare of life-force burst up and out of the body, making it arch into a half circle and glow a brilliant blue as the corpse' eyes snapped so wide that the whites shone all around them.

Haldir had been startled into the wall, his back pressed into it as far as he could go. "_Legolas-?_" he breathed harshly, fear and wonder playing across his features. His dark-haired captain was backed up against him, so utterly afraid that he was shivering, and his legs had given out in the initial shock.

"M-My lord?" the poor elf got out.

"L-Legolas?"

The prince was lying prostrate on the stone bier, but he remained caught in the same pose, arms flung wide, legs spread-eagled, his one, renewed breath still trapped within him. Haldir began to realize that Legolas had been granted life, and if they didn't do something that gift would be lost.

"My lord," Haldir addressed him, laying hands on him and searching the dark eyes for recognition. "Legolas!"

Legolas finally looked- really looked- directly at him... and began to scream.

~0~


	13. Chapter 13: The Light Wanes

For those of you who don't know, the last chapters were written when I was roughly sixteen years old to about nineteen... so now that I am twenty-five, we are going to hope that the writing will have changed for the better.

Fanfiction dot net: Prepare yourself. Emirichan the Great... has an update to administer. 

I am attempting to keep a BIT more seriousness in the writing, as well as trying to keep a bit more of Tolkien's old English feel to the speech patterns. Watching the extended editions back to back REALLY helped. XD So BE WARNED: The writing may have changed a bit after SIX years of hiatus and the EIGHT YEARS of writing it has taken to get the fic to this point.

To the die-hard fans awaiting this for SO many years... give yourself a full back massage. You've earned it. I love you all. Enjoy your rewards!*

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

~0~

**Chapter Thirteen: The Light Wanes**

~0~

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Stifling silence had overtaken the throne room, as frightening and bone-deep as the despair that overtook Theoden's army at their king's withdrawal the Uruk-hai had besieged their last pathetic shelter. The fear had been choking, thick as smoke, thick as tar, and the abrupt cease of the battering ram had almost been more terrifying at the thought that one being was holding back the entire Uruk-hai force alone. Not one man had the will to take their bodies from the door, lest the enemy break through at any moment.

Panicked, tremulous breathing and the occasional slide of boot leather across the aged stone was all that could be heard in the dark... until another cry would erupt from behind the great doors. Theoden had just enough mind left to recall that Aragorn's brothers had been spared, and it was most likely thanks to him that the battering of their stronghold had ceased. But for how long? No one dared ask. No one dared speak.

All they could do was listen.

The unnatural cries of Saruman's army continually droned into the rank air, punctuated by the enraged cries of one lone elf out for blood. Now they could but wait for the Noldor to be cut down, surprised that he had held for as long as he had. The huddled Men of Rohan leaned heavily against the crisply sealed portal to throne room, preparing themselves in hand and spirit for the next bout of slaughter to begin.

After what seemed like hours into the night, a new cry signalled the start of their last approaching hardship... and the end of their saviour's resistance.

~0~

Pressing himself firmly against the Deeping wall, the Heir of Isildur listened with barely contained desperation as his brother poured his grief into the roiling throng of creatures swarming over the stone bridge. Keeping as far from sight as he was able, the ranger used the distraction of another swift, clanging flurry of blows to check his elven brother's position before he leapt...

Aragorn's heart tore when he caught sight of the lone figure still raging against the wall of Uruks before the gate.

"_Elrohir_," he whispered, stricken to his very core.

There was naught left of Elven features to identify him.

The gentle brother who fed, clothed and comforted Estel at the shoulder of his dear twin was no more.

Elrohir was drenched from crown to heel in the black blood of Uruk-hai, orc and goblin alike, his hair spilling wet swaths of pitch darkness like ink onto the already bloodied stone with every whiplike sweep of his hand, a scimitar taken from the enemy and a Rohirrim blade in each tightly clenched fist. There was no pause in his mission to take the life of every creature he sighted, not even to acknowledge a return blow should it strike true.

He was a living storm of death unstoppable, the son of Elrond Peredhil as clearly in act as in name.

Aragorn had just enough time to wonder if this what what their father had resembled during the great war against Sauron so many centuries ago: a swift bringer of justice in the most glorious and elegant image of warrior.

That thought quickly left him to be replaced with a frightening dual image of both weeping child and towering beast striking out at each foe: tandem in their despair and anguish, but parted in the pain of darkened innocence and the eternal hunger for carnage and death. Unlike the tales of battle long past were his brother's actions now: there was no quarter given these beasts in any case, but the viciousness of his strikes and the lack of attention to the Noldor's own well-being showed more of the darkness holding his soul than any bloodied body could display. Two goblin arrows still remained in his limbs, but he moved with no indication of pain or care for them, and not all blood coating Elrohir was the enemies'. His speed was undaunted, and the wolflike shrieks of vengeance with each fallen minion were strained with the depth of his grief, a grating of vocal chords as though across ragged steel.

The bereft twin did not even notice that he still wept with each strike.

Aragorn shut his eyes at the sharp ache in his breast. His family was falling apart in front of him as surely as the defenses of Helm's Deep, and he could not even think on it for fear of signing his own death warrant with such distraction. Hope for Gandalf's swift return now had two heavy reasons: the salvation of Rohan, and the tattered soul of an immortal treading farther and farther from the Illuvatar's song.

_Ai, gwador-nin... What will become of you this night? I fear for your spirit..._

"_AARHH- Agh!_"

His shaken observance had allowed for too much time to pass; without warning he heard a new kind of cry escape his older brother's throat, unseen behind the wall of stone.

It was unmistakably the cry of one dealt a mortal wound.

Aragorn's chest was pierced with a dagger of sheer panic as he heard blood spattering the floor, followed by the staggering of elven boots as its owner caught himself just before pitching over the edge of the passage into the abyss.

"_Elrohir!_" Aragorn screamed, not even bothering to look before throwing himself into the fray before the shadowed gates.

The shout distracted several Uruk warriors in their rush toward the elf, and the ranger's flailing plunge into the horde of dark creatures sent five of them over the opposite side of the bridge, placing Elrohir behind him as he caught a huge goblin scimitar with his own blade and flung it away. He could smell the coppery scent of blood overpowering even the stench of the black army's dead legions. Though he dared not look away from the surging enemy forces barring their every turn, he could hear his elven brother moan as he struggled to stay upright against the Deeping wall.  
_  
Valar, I beg of you, please let me bring him home safe-_

With a sudden, explosive roar of infuriated agony, Aragorn was shocked to see Elrohir pitch himself sword-first directly on top of the shielded monolith of Uruk warriors, killing three of them between the spaces in their shields and kicking a dozen more off of the high path with each fevered step as he ran across the_ top_of the surging machine that was Saruman's army. Aragorn felt his heart drop through his stomach as the Noldor elf's blackened body was dragged downward-

-and disappeared into the seething mass of evil beasts as they swept toward the keep.

"_ELROHIR, __**NO!**_" He did not recognize the voice as his own, his bloodied face paling to white, breath catching in his throat.

His brother was gone.

It felt like he had just severed his heart from his body, and he could not bring himself to move even to protect himself.

_No- He is gone- he is gone_- _It can't be, it cannot!_

The Dunadan could have died from the sheer anguish of losing sight of the dark-haired elf, knowing what even now was being done to him beneath the impenetrable armour of the Uruk blockade. The orc army was mobile, however, and it cost him dearly.

Out of nowhere, searing pain in his thigh: a razor edged black sword sheared a thick stripe of cloth from his leg, and in horror Aragorn realized that he had finally been cut down, slipping with a sickening finality into a puddle of black blood on the cold stone floor; there was no way to stop the next blow when it came for him. There were too many, too many!

One Uruk saw the opening as this pestilent human lost his advantage over them, and rotted teeth appeared from behind shredded black lips in a smile of victory as he hefted a halberd high above him, ready to strike the Dunadan's sword from his hands and take his head in one blow-

A shrieking like the damned in all their consuming agony erupted before him, and the oncoming beasts were forced to turn to save themselves from being shoved over the ledge into space. There was confusion in the horde, but confusion swiftly turned to fear and fury as the source of the sound grew nearer, not losing any of its intensity as this new power took out warrior after warrior in its flight up the bridge.

The entire right side of the phalanx was sent toppling like so many child's playthings from the edge of the path, closer and closer to the entrance. Whatever approached was hidden by cracked, warped Uruk armor and falling bodies as it came. An interminable frenzied cry marked the source of the damage as it came, and Aragorn just barely recognized it as an ancient battle cry to arms:

"_**DREGO MORN!**_" ("_Flee, night!_")

What happened next, Estel did not think he would ever forget in all his mortal years.

Elrohir burst forth from beneath the shields with all the hatred of Morgoth himself in his face, screaming like a wraith and shedding pieces of orc and goblin from his person as he caught his footing on the open stone before the entrance of the Deep. His breath came in gasping shudders that stemmed more from madness and sheer fury than pain or weakness. Shock stilled the monsters for an interminable moment.

Then, without a single glance at his human brother, Elrohir once more set about laying utter waste to the oncoming legions in front of him.

Lying prone across the entryway, Aragorn felt as chilled as if the demonic being that had clawed its way out of an entire army were after his own blood. The elf's eyes held no sanity, no sentience save for thoughts of revenge- and he did not even flinch as a gout of deep red blood poured from his side.

Aragorn was starting to believe that perhaps Elrohir would hold off Saruman's forces alone and win. But most certainly at the cost of his life.

"Laddie!"

"Aragorn!"

_Gimli- _Aragorn saw a flash of white amidst the grey stone of the tower and saw that Gamling and the dwarf had both secured a throw line for him.

"Aragorn! Get out of there! Quickly!" Gamling ordered gruffly, swinging the line closer to where the ranger lay.

Struggling to stand on his wounded leg, Aragorn blocked the wild flail of a broadsword as Elrohir severed an Uruk's arm from its body still holding the weapon and sent it careening toward him, almost directly into the man's face. Nausea filled him at the sight of the heavily injured Noldor continuing to hack into the side of another bellowing Uruk warrior until he cleaved him in two before moving on to his next victim, still screaming with all the pain he endured inside and out. Smoke from the explosions below drifted in front of the Dunadan and draped itself over Elrohir like a veil of starless night.

It was if the very ground on which they stood wished to take the elf from him.

"Grab him, Aragorn! Hurry!" Gimli shouted from somewhere above him.

"Elrohir come, we must away!" he cried hoarsely, his good leg trembling beneath him as he limped toward the far side of the bridge. His eyes stung from rain, smog and orc filth, and he was barely able to see enough to dodge an arrow as it sped past his neck. The rope was slick with rainwater, and he prayed it would hold long enough to drag them away from the throng, securing it to his own belt as swiftly as his sword-cramped hands would let him.

With each passing moment the fray grew wilder, the army pressing in closer about him, his brother's form less discernible in the gathering dark. He jerked in surprise as the rope began to move upward, looking frantically out into the valley for any sign of the embattled twin. He saw nothing, and his insides twisted as if he'd been stabbed.

_No!_

"Elrohir, we must retreat! _Hear me, my brother!_"

There was no response save for the shrieking of connecting blades and the growl of the thousands of Uruk-hai below him.

Aragorn felt his stomach heave, the length of his spine gone cold. The helplessness that had gripped him in the glittering caves was borne anew in him, and he screamed in frustration and pain. The elf wanted this, he _wanted_to die! He couldn't leave him like this, not again! Not ever again!

"Gwador-nin I beg you, take my hand!" Aragorn exploded, straining to reach him as the soldiers above him continued to gather the line back into the tower. His feet had left the ground now, in mere moments it would be too late-

"_ELROHIR!_" the Dunadan cried in despair, his strength failing him.

There was an audible pause in the rhythm of battle, and soon Elrohir's sodden black tresses came into view just above a pair of goblins whose rush took him as far as the entryway and smashed him into the ground. He had caught their blows with an enemy spear, seeming to change weapons as quickly as each orc he felled, but the elf's face was tight with strain and Aragorn knew he would be unable to hold them for long. A larger Uruk was readying a scimitar for the elf's head, in seconds the goblins would be spaced far enough for him to throw a fatal blow-

Aragorn's heart contracted and he threw his hand far enough down the wall to graze his brother's face, leveling one final Sindarin challenge to spur his brother's departure in the hollow scream of a madman:

"_**Would you discard the gift of Legolas Thranduilion so lightly, Son of Elrond?!"**_

Sea green eyes went wide within the blackened face, and his entire being stilled.

The Uruk struck downward with a snarl of triumph, and the ranger thought his heart would stop, crying out-

An elven hand caught his, slippery with blood and clutching at him with a strength that bruised him. Instantly Aragorn threw himself into action, sliding the Noldor elf from beneath the oncoming horde and up into his arms. It knocked the beasts unstable and the Uruk sliced the goblin to his left clear through to the floor, spears and arrows raining down around them as Aragorn and Elrohir were pulled higher and higher, agonizingly slow in their pace.

Elrohir caught one arrow as it grazed his cheek and threw it lifelessly into the black sea of monsters writhing beneath them, shielding Aragorn from as many as he could not dodge alone. Aside from the occasional stilted movement to evade enemy fire, there was nothing more from him.

Estel's blood pounded in his ears, and he gasped to avoid losing consciousness. He could not seem to catch his breath. The man had truly thought that he would have to leave his brother behind in that hellish swarm, and shivers that had nothing to do with the storm wracked his body. The Dunadan held Elrohir's hand in both of his as though he would drop him into Mordor itself should he release him. The elf merely held on soundlessly as they reached the top of the stone wall.

He didn't even feel it when they both collapsed onto the freezing stones of the keep.

~0~

"_NO! No, I beg you! I must away-_"

"Prince Legolas- Legolas, please-"

"_No, no, no, no, no,_" the prince continued rabidly, cradling himself and rocking violently atop the bier. The Mirkwood elf's eyes were haunted, and he trembled with the force of an unseen power that coursed through him. His light was bright, too bright to be the natural glow of any elf, and the wounds that had marred his beautiful body remained, now merely scars in their misuse of the archer.

The Lothlorien guard kept both hands raised as if to act, but could not bring himself to touch the newly awakened prince after his first reaction to the hands upon him, whether for fear of sending him back or of wounding him further he did not know. His eyes were troubled as he watched the prince's movement and awed by the sheer brilliance of his light. His captain hardly dared speak.

"Lord Haldir..."

"_They call m-me, they call me still- WHY did you not let me go?! Why..._" Harsh sobbing took over Legolas' demands and he bent into himself, his arms wrapped protectively over his soiled golden head as if to ward off the breaking world.

Haldir could not comprehend what was happening.

His mind seemed to be frozen, unable to put the words on his tongue into voice, his hands trembling too hard to properly reach out and grasp his lord's hands in a gesture of comfort. How had this happened? How had the prince returned? Never before had a Firstborn revived from such as mortal death in front of him. Lord Glorfindel was renowned for his return, but never had Haldir actually _witnessed_such miracles.

Now that it had occurred, however, it seemed that this miracle was naught but the darkest of nightmares for the sure-armed, heartstrong elf he knew as the son of Thranduil. Haldir thought he would retch.

What did one do with a spirit broken from its return?

"_I cannot- I c-cannot bear it- Naneth, why?_" Legolas moaned again, shuddering as if from bitter cold.

"My lord Haldir, if we do not make haste the _yrch_will be upon us! We must leave for the passage at once!" his captain whispered, a note of panic entering his voice at the thought of losing such a hope as their prince's return as soon as it was given. The dark legions could still hold sway over such acts from the Valar should they be discovered now.

A new bout of heart-wrenching weeping overtook the younger elf, and Haldir realized that if they did not get out of the wall soon, the noise would indeed bring the whole army about them. There was no choice, they had to flee- but which was more important: the damage of his body or the damage of his soul? The older elf did not know which he feared more: the blades of the shadows or the obvious trauma holding his prince's mind like claws against tender healing flesh.

He made his decision quickly.

"My Prince- Legolas," Haldir soothed, bringing his arms about the archer at last, trembling as much as the younger elf. "We must bring you to safety, my lord; we must get to the keep. _Sidh_, _mellon-nin_... _sidh_..."

At this new touch the prince stiffened and cried out, trying to escape him, until Haldir caught the young one's eyes and held him lightly, letting him partake of what little peace still lingered in his own heart. Crystal blue eyes drank in the offering of spirit with fervor as the veil between them was cast aside. The peace of the Eldar was an anchor to a storm-battered ship: a precious mouthful of water to a traveler in the deserts of Harad.

Recognition lit his gaze, and the shivering subsided momentarily.

With a choking sob, the prince collapsed against him with a Sindarin prayer on his lips.

"_Haldir... H-Haldir... I saw her... Ai, Elbereth, what have I done? What have I done...?_"

Haldir thought he would collapse from sheer relief at having reached the anguished prince at last, even through mere recollection of his comrade, releasing a breath he didn't know he'd held.

Another soft sob shook him.

"_Help me..._"

The Lothlorien elf's voice was strong as he took up the oath. "I swear to you, my lord, that I will aid you however I can."

_Even to send you to the Western shores at the battle's end, my friend_.

Carefully tilting the prince's stained, half-clothed body into both arms, he lifted Legolas to his chest and signaled for the other elf to follow, taking great pains to avoid hitting the Prince of Mirkwood against the jagged rock walls and making his way up the path toward the inner holding of the keep.

_Estel will be beside himself_, Haldir thought. Then it occurred to him, lifting his heart as they began the move to the keep. _Perhaps _he_ can heal this affliction... We will pray it is so. There will be no one short of those treading Valinor to help him now. _

~0~

Eowyn had long awaited this moment, but now that it came, she was beginning to be uncertain of her abilities. The Uruk-hai were too many; there would be no avoidance of their attack once the caves were discovered. A few wounded had been delivered into their midst before the outer wall had fallen, but more than half of them had perished not an hour after their coming. Some of the women cried for their fallen, some sat in denial, some in dull acceptance.

Erhia was none of these. Eowyn had taken up her place beside the cave entrance, waiting for the first of the beasts to show itself. She was surprised to find another Rohan maiden at her side, having taken up a blade for herself and bedraggled brown hair pulled back with a leather strap to allow her better vision. A swift glance between them was all that they dared before silently standing guard at either side of the opening.

It had been a painful length of waiting for death to appear, but the moment heavy footsteps echoed from above, they knew their time had come. The first blow jarred her to her bones, and she shouted her ardor to the towers above, one last prayer overtaking her thoughts before they faded into the mindless dance of battle:

_May we fight well._

~0~

There was a commotion in the East. The shriek of horses as they fell and the snarling sound of flesh tearing spoke of horsemen falling beneath the army's hand. The battle had resumed and Arwen could no longer hear the sound of her sibling's wrath outside their hidden fortress.

The Evenstar thought she would die from the pain wrought upon her at her brother's cry, but now she could do naught but wait and tend Theoden's people. Eowyn had traveled up to the highest levels of the cave and begged her to stay behind, drawing the families as far from the offending force as possible, and they had traveled to the last depths of the cave's protections.

_Illuvatar, guide Elrohir to your will_, she prayed, a chill of the surrounding evil preying on her as surely as the winter's frost. The elf maiden could feel her brother's light waning, and most frightening of all was the all encompassing grief and madness that had taken him.

He no longer spoke to her of the Eldar's grace, and that had been worse than any wound.

At long last a cry had echoed across the hornburg, and she knew that it was Estel, calling for their brother. She knew he would protect him were it in his power to grant. A single tear traversed the length of her pale face.

_You may not wish Kingship, my love, but the healer remains within you. Save him_...

~0~

"Elrohir...? You must release me, _gwador-nin_."

Inside the throne room, Elrohir had refused to move, keeping both arms around the Dunadan with strength that pained him, clutching the man as purposefully as Aragorn had held onto him during their rise to the keep. The occasional glance of a Rohan soldier took in Lord Aragorn encased in a living throne of darkness, the blood-soaked elven warrior pressed against his back wrapped possessively about him, reminiscent of a demonic guardian from days of old. They shivered at the thought of approaching either of them, judging by the gleaming green eyes in the shadows.

The elf would not speak, but merely held his human brother and sat silently against the wall farthest from the braced doors. His eyes showed no life within them, not even the pain of his hurts, and it was more terrifying than the ferocity with which he had fought not minutes prior. The rain of black from Saruman's legions surrounding the Noldor elf stained Estel's hands darkly he held them, and more continued to soak his clothing from his trembling embrace.

A drop of blood fell from the end of his nose.

Shock had set in, and Elrohir was not behind the eyes that fixed on the gates before them. Aragorn feared that he might never again see the gaily mocking sibling that had once graced this shade of a being. The only movement from him was whenever Estel tried to rise, and the arms would catch his body harder in a gesture of denial, not allowing him to move toward the doors. At first the ranger thought that perhaps Elrohir was just in such turmoil that he could not release him, but the change in pressure whenever he pulled away showed a glimmer of the elf's protective nature.

He didn't want Estel anywhere near the enemy approaching.

In the meantime he waited for the next round of slaughter as tightly wound as when he'd been chopping a path of gore into the gathered enemy before the gate, and Aragorn knew that he would continue his chosen path of revenge as long as the enemy still existed.

The man sighed shakily, and merely held his brother's hands tighter where they gripped him.

"I must help them, Elrohir. I must bind your wounds, or you will fade." There was no answer. Aragorn felt his heart break within him. "Please, brother."

The silence answered for him.

_They will kill you. I cannot let them_.

"I do not wish your death... We must stop the bleeding. I will stay at your side, but you must release me." Estel chose the tone of a child, belying his desperation to help his ailing sibling. He could feel the unsettling warmth of blood against his back, and a pitch black circle of liquid was creeping across the throne room floor from beneath them.

"_Please_, Elrohir!" he cried. Still the elf did not relent.

Tears filled his eyes as he felt some of the strength bleed away from his brother's grip. The doors shook in answer to the pummeling of the gate, and orcen bellowing rose anew as the wood began to give way under their strength. Aragorn felt the fear taking him, felt Elrohir dying at his back and the last of his hope was stealing away from him.

_Boromir's words were not false... All will fall to shadow_.

...

When the light hit his eyes, he thought he had blacked out, and this was a vision of the White Shores come to torment him. Blinking heavily, he turned his face to the portal in the Eastern wall...

...and Aragorn saw that the dawn had come at last.

The whinny of a stallion reached his ears from the mountains, and he remembered Gandalf's words just in time to hear his brother's voice escape in a grating breath:

"..._Mithrandir_..."

Aragorn felt the arms around him fall to the floor and leapt up to face the elf with a surge of hopeful joy as he saw his face change. Elrohir had turned his head toward daybreak as if he had sensed the wizard's approach, sightlessly seeking the illuminated strength of the Istar as he neared.

"_Mithrandir_," he repeated hoarsely, barely able to form the word. A measure of the darkness was taken from his gaunt features, replaced with a weariness that lay deeper than flesh and bone, but there was presence to his gaze now that had not been there before.

"Elrohir-"

With all the power of the sons of men, the Horn sounded in the deep, accompanied by the shouts of the Rohirrim, and Theoden suddenly lifted his own head in answer. Horses unnumbered sounded their challenges over the valley and the cry of a great eagle overshadowed them all. Hope awakened in the hearts of all who heard, for there was no mistaking the armies of men that mounted the cliffs.

Help had come at last.

~0~

I am making a vow to all you fans of this story who still read it:

I will be updating again this week, because I WANT THIS TO BE DONE, DARNIT. I am as hopeful for the next few scenes as you all are, and I CANNOT sit and wait another three years for this to be finished! I want WEEKS, curse it all! DO NOT PANIC. I AM NOT LEAVING THIS HERE.

See you all as soon as I finish the next installment- (types madly)


	14. Chapter 14: That Hope Yet Reigned

Well, crud. I told myself I wasn't going to ask, but... REVIEW. I am POURING myself into this thing; I've been writing it nonstop since the moment of my last update, what, three days now? And listening to nothing but Two Steps From Hell and Immediate Music on repeat... EVEN ON WALKS. I have been taking my toddler on walks in her stroller listening to epic choral music and trying not to see flying giant eagles and random elves leaping out of the trees. 

Please. Review. Tell me what you think about the new writing. It's been forever, and I CAN'T STOP. Here, you have to listen to this while reading; it's what I wrote most of this chapter to. Just replace the.s with a period:

/watch?v=VG-mLawoxrs&list=HL1354110899&feature=mh_lolz

And THIS is the closes to the real feel of the scene with Legolas and Aragorn's situation below, from 1:00 to about the end of the clip. I ADORE this video. The music is AMAZINGLY perfect:

/watch?NR=1&feature=endscreen&v=e7w5p34t5EM

You're welcome. And yes, I am still writing the next chapter as we speak. AGAIN. CAN'T. STOP. 

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

~0~

**Chapter Fourteen: That Hope Yet Reigned**

~0~

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_BOOM. _

The joy was dashed from Aragorn's soul as quickly as it had come.

Their cavalry may have arrived, but the forces within the outer halls had not ceased their battering. Splinters were starting to spray into the chamber from the failing wood of the heavy doors, the brute strength of the Uruk-hai attaining their aim at last.

"_He is here..._"

Aragorn faced his elven brother with searching eyes.

Elrohir's voice was a tatter of smoke upon the wind. More blood fell onto the stone as the Noldor lay immobile, both hands lying where they had fallen palm up and covered in black, only the wall keeping him upright enough to speak. He looked as if he wanted, nay _needed _to go to the light streaming in from the window, to bathe himself in the wizard's healing presence, but could not bring himself to move. A gasp shook him, sending a tremor through his limp form and tapping the arrows still embedded in his arm and leg against the wall of the keep, bowing his head even lower:

"_Mithrandir... M-Mithrandir..._"

_If they break through, they will be sure to end him first_, Estel thought, unconsciously tightening his grip around his sword hilt, stricken at the thought of losing him after coming so far.

They had to get him out.

"Elrohir, you must hide," he urged him, grasping the weakened elf by his elbow and trying to force him to his feet. "There are passages... Gandalf's riders will be here soon, but we have to hold until then! Please, we must get you to safety!"

The blackened warrior did not seem to hear him, his head dipping back and forth as if trying to stay conscious. Shock appeared to have set in long ago, and all he could do was detachedly repeat the wizard's name.

"_Mithrandir..._"

Aragorn thought he would scream from unadulterated frustration as the sound of breaking lumber grew more frequent. Panic began to settle into the ranger's lungs, and he yelled into the twin's face, _willing_ him to react as he grasped both of the elf's shoulders:

"_Elrohir!_ I beg you, speak to me _gwador-nin!_ _GET UP!_"

"Ride."

Aragorn whirled around to face Theoden, the horse lord's grave features transformed into the statuesque figure of a leader at last. The proof of their salvation and the possibility of victory had awoken the king from his stupor, and he faced the ranger with every bit of his royal blood displayed upon his features. The transformation was incredible, and not at all unwanted as he directed his newly empowered guard to their stations. The greying man turned to Aragorn, studying his face as he spoke in an attempt to quell the growing despair he found there:

"Ride out and meet them with me. We will drive them to the Rohirrim and bolster our soldiers' courage in one blow." Theoden's words held the ring of conviction that the Dunadan's had offered in their earlier exchange. "We _must_ ride and push them back. It may yet save us all."

The king's deep eyes lay upon the warrior bleeding upon the throne room floor as he spoke the last string of words.

Aragorn set his jaw in answer, allowing himself a sliver of relief at the man's renewed vigor and veiled comfort.

"At your command, Theoden King," he said grimly, nodding his allegiance.

_BOOM!_

A sickening cracking sound heralded the breaching of the gate.

Their plan to turn the Uruks from the elf never even had a chance.

Elrohir had turned his gaze back upon the doors as they spoke, and Aragorn did not see him move when he took the sword from the ranger's belt and took up a head-height stance, blade-first at the head of the remaining Rohirrim a dagger's length from the breaking doors. A collective gasp escaped those closest to him; the gathered Men could not help but draw back from this bloodied creature of such unknowable power suddenly a shoulder's width away, the cold green eyes not wavering from their mark as black fists covered in iron bracers pounded their way through the opening, rasping, chattering growls filtering through the gap.

"Fall back! Mount the horses!" came Theoden's thundering command, and the men were quick to oblige. Whether from fear of the orcs or the dark elf himself, neither he nor they could tell.

"Elrohir, _get back!_" Aragorn ran forward as fast as his wounded limbs would carry him, catching up a discarded blade as he pelted down the length of the throne room.

_Elbereth, they will kill him; he is already bleeding out! _

Sensing the man's charge behind him, Elrohir swung down viciously upon the hands reaching over the threshold and dropped four of them to the floor along with their armor and weapons, clawed, severed fingers bouncing with a sickly wet smack on the stone.

The reaction was immediate; shrill cawing and furious animalistic bellows nearly took the ranger's hearing as the injured beasts withdrew to allow for more. Aragorn attempted to get past the elf and shield him as the first of the creatures overtook the keep, but Elrohir's attacks not only maimed the oncoming Uruk-hai: every stroke blocked Aragorn's sword from its destination, deliberately parrying him back into the throne room and away from the swarm.

"Elrohir, what are you _doing?!_" Estel roared as a particularly heavy block sent him reeling back toward Theoden and almost off his feet. "You _must_ let me through!"

At last, Elrohir answered, his gaze never leaving the hideous features of the twisted, hulking monster he had deadlocked before him, mere inches away.

"I will not lose you to them, Estel," he said evenly, his blackened face smooth and without strain despite the shuddering of his body as he held fast against his opponent. One tear crept from the corner of his left eye to drink away some of the gore from his skin as he spoke:

"They took him... They took El... They took_ Legolas_-"

A snarl ripped across his features, his entire bloody face spasming, and Aragorn's heart bled at his words:

"_I will not... lose you too_-"

An abrupt fling of his blade sent the orc back into the wall, and the fire returned to his eyes.

"_You __**WILL NOT HAVE HIM!**_" Elrohir screamed, and threw himself past the broken door and out into the corridors, clashing blades resounding together with the feral uproar of the dying and embattled within.

"Elrohir," Aragorn whispered.

There was no reply.

His mind was numb; why had he ever let him go? Could he have even attempted to save him in his state of mind? Elrohir was determined to save the last of his brothers as surely as Estel wished to save him, but there was no stopping the twin now that he had no anchor of which to speak, no comfort left but the weight of a blade.

The ranger shivered from within.

_The shadow around us may be vanquished this day, but I do not know what we shall become of the shadow on his heart..._

"My lord Aragorn, we begin the charge!"

Swiveling to face the Rohirrim at his left, he realized the man offered him the reigns of a war horse, a mare of deep chestnut red. He saw the hidden opening to the inner stables and as quickly as he comprehended their purpose, he swung himself up onto her back, bracing his injured leg and wrapping the sword to his hand to keep it from tearing away from him in the fray, a mark of both preparedness and his stubborn refusal to let go of the strength dawn had given them.

He would save his brother from the evil of Sauron, whether he wished it or not.

~0~

_Dark times indeed, _the wizard thought as he knocked another goblin into nothingness with a sweep of his staff.

Gandalf's spirit had been troubled since their attack had begun, dark evil and staggering light lurking beneath the surface in ways he could not place. The sun had risen, and their arrival had been both swift and saving; their mounts had proven hardy and their destination had risen to view in the best time they could have hoped for, lest the entire contingent rode upon eagles themselves.

The Istar had been pleased to see that any of them had survived their night-long ordeal, but there was a force on the air as overpowering and as soul-stirringly tangible as the smell of Orc and the blow of a sword. Many of the Firstborn had perished, golden armour shining beneath layers of pitch and grime, red blood mixing with black in a muddy swath of destruction. That alone was enough to pull hearts into depths they could not escape.

But further still were the forces of living spirit that moved the battle this day.

He had praised his blessed fortune to have crossed the plains while following the army's trail, and not an hour too soon. Elrond would have willingly sacrificed himself for his son, had he not been present to draw the young one himself. Now Gwaihir soared a man's height from the ground, sharp talons shredding through whatever unfortunate orc he happened to pass, and apparently relishing the feel of it from the way he continually flexed his claws.

Rohirrim horses were both courageous and tolerant, and fortunately none of them spooked at the giant creature hanging gracefully in the burnished silver skies above them. The King of Eagles had stayed high until they had reached the battleground, swooping down past the horses with Elrond and his son atop either wing, armed with elven blades and slashing out from both sides to clear a path for the wizard and his stallion as they came.

The brilliance of the light seemed to emanate from the tower whilst the shadow burned a gaping hole into the fields below, neither of them lesser in their strength, and the souls containing them seemed- familiar somehow...

Gandalf was forced to grit his teeth and leave the mystery unsolved as another screeching goblin attacked from this left.

_Time enough for that once the battle for Rohan has been won-_

"Elrond! Go, young one!" The wizard gestured at the blood-spattered castle in the distance.

The elf lord took his cue and shifted his gaze to the fortress, setting Gwaihir's path with a short utterance. "To the Hornburg!" Elrond rallied the army of Men, eyes blazing. "To the keep!"

This was the ancient warrior in all the mythic telling of his deeds, from the time of the Silmarils and beyond. His lengthy dark hair was spread aloft in the high wind atop the great eagle, the curved silver sheen of Hadhafang brandished above his head, pointed towards their aim as his robes billowed behind him, all the glory of the Eldar revealed in his passing. He could not know what awed hopefulness he inspired in backing these men, the King of the Great Eagles serving as both his mount and his comrade, dealing death to the enemy with each dive as surely and efficiently as any monstrosity Saruman could have devised.

"We will dispatch them as Theoden drives them from the keep!" the elf lord directed the soldiers below as Gwaihir ended the life of a particularly belligerent troll not a horselength away from him. "_Forward!_"

The horsemen sounded their answer in tones parched for vengeance, raising sword, spear and halberd in the full gallop toward what remained of their people.

Elladan nodded in his own response and held onto Gwaihir's side for dear life, as desperate to take the fortress as a drowning man struggling for the surface. His sword had been saturated with orc blood before he had ever reached the field, and he shuddered in remembrance of his former captors, fearing his brothers had suffered the same on this field more than any fear of the memories themselves.

"Illuvatar, protect us all," the dark haired elf muttered as they swept past line after line of Saruman's legions, his practised grip nearly cracking the casing of his hilt, more than mere passing gales stinging his eyes. Elrond watched his child from the corner of his eye, knowing just how near the night's experience was to the boy even now. He would never neglect the field, not while Aragorn, Elrohir and all of Theoden's kingdom still lay at stake, but Elladan knew his father was fighting the urge to take him solidly into his arms as they drew closer and closer to the dark animals below.

Not hours ago had the twin awoken in the tall grasses of Rohan to his Ada's wan, tired face smiling gently down at him, a pair of shining drops in the lord's usually ageless eyes:

_Ion-nin... My son..._

He had never expected to wake, and the unmarked elf was grateful still that Mithrandir had returned him to his father. Despite that relief, his spirit nearly cracked in two as the image of a fair-haired archer filled his vision.

If only they could have woken Legolas.

He had wished that there was more time to grieve for their lost friend, but the warring continued ahead of them and the fervent tug of another churning entity pulsed within his breast, spurring him on and demanding that he fly faster toward the Deeping wall. More torment than Legolas had ever suffered resounded from whatever spirit was bound to him now, and while the feel of the presence was foreign, fraught with decaying light and steeped in breathtaking despair, Elladan felt fear take root within him as he knew.

The soul that held so much void and darkness could only be Elrohir.

Never before had such torment been a part of his twin's familiar spirit, and he wondered with waking horror if even the Song of Illuvatar still held him now. None but the Eldar could hear such music, but the silence in the last wisp of connection they shared was clenching his stomach into knots.

_Elrohir... What has happened to you my brother?_

As they cast down foe after foe on their swift descent into Helm's Deep, Gwaihir shrieking as a horn to arms beneath them, Elrond Peredhil and Elladan Elrondion sped across the field with only one thought shared between them, equal in their worry and their urgent need to arrive at the tower at last:

_Hold on, Elrohir. I am coming for you._

_~0~_

The silence was heavy, and the emptiness even moreso. Neither had been expected.

The clatter of armour against the halls was jarring as they emerged from the tunnels, such secrecy having been necessary up until then that it made Haldir jump to have such blatant sound hit his ears. The elven guard managed to lift Legolas' up into the main floor of the now vacant throne room, every beast having followed at the humans' charge down into the great frothing abyss of Men, Uruk-hai and elves. He had intended to leave his captain guarding the prince as he followed in their wake to aid them, but the warmly shining archer had refused to let go once the dawn-lit room had appeared around them.

"_Dark-k... it is so dark_," Legolas murmured, eyes too bright and too unfocused to be speaking of the chamber. His trembling had yet to abate, and it held both unearthly power and weakness within. Another sob escaped him before he could quell it.

_It is torment... The darkness of this world, I cannot..._

"I will not leave you my prince," Haldir promised, tugging one arm over his shoulders to better support the Mirkwood elf as they traveled to the top of the keep. "Take as many arrows as you can find and shoot from the tower," he ordered his captain. "I will follow ere I am able."

The captain gave a short nod and disappeared into the halls. _May the Rohirrim return quickly, and victorious, _he prayed briefly. The prince firmly propped against his side, Haldir began to search for some coverings to still his lord's shivering, knowing that at least some of his bodily reactions to his current state were from the night storm's frigid embrace.

As the elf turned toward the throne, a great moan came from deep in Legolas chest, and his breath caught as if he were in the midst of a vision, his head vaulting back as he clutched at the Lothlorien guard that held him.

"_Estel!_" he cried, sky blue eyes seeing yet not seeing as his face drew parallel with the ceiling of the great hall.

"_**Estel!**_"

_The ranger was on horseback in the valley, Theoden beside him, Gimli, Gamling, tens of other Rohirrim all fighting valiantly and tirelessly against goblin, orc and Uruk, hope painting their faces into portraits of determination and the very essence of will-_

_Yards away, one fallen, half-dead goblin held a gruesome, deformed crossbow, fixed with a serrated arrowhead and already set at the ready, but an Uruk-hai blocked Aragorn's view. He did not see as the creature aimed for him with one last sodden breath and laced its bony fingers into the trigger-path-_

"_NO! Estel look out!"_

_He saw Aragorn's eyes widen with understanding, and the bolt hit him with such force that it knocked him underfoot, trampling him beneath horses, ripping him apart amidst hungry, gaping mouths with dagger teeth. He was dead before he even hit the ground and after, there was nothing left-_

"Lord Legolas!"

"**NO!**" he screamed in explosive denial. "They must not take him!"

Legolas anguished lament was a frantic curse to the skies, disturbing and potent obsession taking over his face as he ripped away from Haldir's hands and took off at a full sprint into the recesses of the castle, shaking legs skidding over the stairs as he overtook them, the muscles of his back knotted into taut ripples of fear, golden hair whipping past him in his wake.

Haldir spat a Silvan curse as he followed the delirious elf toward the tower.

~0~

Victory was near.

Aragorn thought his heart would sing at the sight of Gandalf plunging down the mountain with all the fury and devoted sword arms of the Rohirrim horsemen, and now that Gwaihir had joined the battle from above, there was precious little keeping them from decimating Saruman's beloved creations.

Elrohir was nowhere to be found, but Aragorn kept his mind blank and sought to keep his thoughts of nothing but survival until the battle was over. Even a lone orc at the end of years of warfare could be the difference between telling tales by the hearthfire with a good friend and telling tales of said friend at their burial, accompanied by songs of mourning. His chest burned with the need to know that his brother would live, that he wasn't already buried beneath mounds of Sauron's mutated warriors, but a sharp slit to the back of his shoulder reminded him of the cost of preoccupation.

A startling horn call nearby forced his gaze toward the treeline, and drawing his sword vertical before him, Aragorn realized that the Rohirrim had herded the remains of the evil beasts toward the welcoming cover of Fangorn Forest. Welcome would be short lived within those towering, ancient branches, he knew. The Rohirrim were gathered at the forest's edge, barring the way should any creature find the courage to return their attack, and he could hear Eomer's bellowed warning for his men not to enter into the trees.

The cacophany that ensued told all that those legions would not be returning to the battlefield again.

_They have gone... _

Exhaustion was starting to rear its ugly head as the ranger took in the state of the valley. There were only the stubborn few left now, being swiftly taken down by flanking Rohirrim guardsmen, and hordes of fallen, dying or wounded orcs and others covered the field in a myriad of nauseating, macabre décor: dented shields, destroyed catapults, horse carcasses, remains of helmets, shattered swords and broken bows... Other things less recognizable piled the field, things he dared not try to make out.

The movement on the field was stilling, however, and his years of duty as a soldier were stating that the day had been won.

_We must return to the gates... Perhaps Elrohir is still near the keep... _The Dunadan spurred his mount back toward the Hornburg, preparing to search for him in the bodies.

Aragorn was just ready to breathe again when the Uruk came for him.

The mare shrieked her panic beneath him and bucked, kicking wildly at the creature's face as it snarled at her, and his axe bit deeply into her right haunch as her hooves met ruined flesh, nearly dumping Aragorn from the saddle. It was at that moment that he realized just how far he had strayed from both keep and forest, and that there were no other Men nearby to aid him.

The shrill whinny of the mare drew Elrond's attention immediately from almost a half-mile across the valley. Keen elven eyes captured his son's predicament immediately, and he gripped the feathers on Gwaihir's neck in a sharp attempt to direct him, making him scream in protest as the elf lord pointed in Aragorn's direction.

"Gwaihir! Down there! Quickly!" he ordered, showing his fright with the severe lack of decorum as he forced them on toward a single horse and rider so agonizingly far away.

The ancient elf lord's heart fell. His senses told them they wouldn't make it, but the ache in his breast cried out that they must.

"Gwaihir!" Elrond exclaimed in helpless torment, urging him to make haste.

Elladan searched for the source of his father's frantic insistence, taken aback by the panic evident in his usually calm words, and the twin's heart stopped when he realized the faint form on the ground below was none other than his human brother. The Uruk was just as miniscule from their vantage point, but the difference in size and strength was apparent even from their faraway view. He would soon be driven back by the blows, his failing stance clearly recoiling from the beast as it struck him.

"Estel!" The twin cried, his eyes filling with horror and his hands catching deeply in the bird's back. "Gwaihir hurry! We must fly!"

The eagle screamed at earsplitting volume with all of the desperation that shook his elven riders, spilling downward closer and closer to the ground in an attempt to pick up speed, only an arm's length from the perilous terrain.

_We cannot be too late! Not now when we are so close-_

Across the field, Aragorn was too focused on each parry to even sense their approach.

The Uruk was dying, and that merely made it stronger in its final efforts. A warg's deep baying came from within its blood-quenched throat, and it swung the full weight of its axe into Estel's midriff just as he brought his sword to bear in front of it. He felt his arm buckling beneath the force of the blows, and the corner of his vision showed Eomer straining his stallion's pace in a frenzied attempt to reach him before it was too late. The man was too far, however- Aragorn's sword arm was already giving way.

There was no way he'd get there in time.

Estel's eyes flashed. These were the ones who had tortured his brothers, who had killed his dearest friend, and he'd be damned if he was going to let them take him as well. _Elrohir..._

"DREGO MORN!" the man belted as he struck, and Aragorn's cry booked no room for doubt.

He would have this creature fall beneath his blade.

The Heir of Isildur side-swung at the monster as it raised the axe high- too high, blessedly taking out its left arm and following by slicing off its head with the return strike, screaming with each gargantuan effort they took from him. With the absence of its gaping maw, the writhing, convulsing body fell to its knees and finally backward to the earth into a puddle of gore, placed as if merely waiting to consume it from sight.

It was over.

His chest heaved with the effort of each breath, his shoulder burned from torn muscles that had held the giant warrior off for as long as he had. Estel's eyes swam with fatigue and he leaned forward against his mount, the fire-brown mare tramping her displeasure at the long tear in her rump, tossing her head.

The Dunadan spoke softly to calm her, his stained sword almost slipping from his grasp but for pure instinct, dark, sweat soaked tresses pasting his forehead, blood streaming from his nose where one of the creatures must have hit him. Aragorn could not help but close his eyes, just for a moment...

~0~

Legolas couldn't keep the images away; there were too many coming in from all sides.

The darkness burned him like ice and fire, and he felt as though the skin were being stripped away from his eyelids when he closed them against it. His breath burned in his lungs and he felt his ribcage stretching painfully as he pulled in more breath than they could take without strain. Running shouldn't have been possible but for the wailing alarm he felt in every inch of his body, and he nearly plunged to his doom off of two of the parapets as he slammed against them to stop his flight, searching the grounds below.

The vision was still fresh in his mind, he should know the creature when he sighted it-

"Ahh!" Slapping both palms across his eyes, the golden-haired elf yanked his head back away from the sight as quickly as he had started his search.

_Ai, the pain! _

_Every dead man, elf and orc on the field was suddenly poured into his mind at the moment of their passing. He could feel how each of them had perished: blades in his back, clawed hands in his gut ripping out his innards, the jolt of a snapping neck, the breaking of bone as horse fell upon rider- every living thing that had died on that endless field gave him their life and their death with his sight of them, all at once. The fear, the anger, the pain, the dying- it all poured into him as a waterspout sucking all of the world down into the oceanic depths of his soul. He shook with the tidal rush as the past battle seemed to take him up in its entirety._

_Illuvatar I beg of you, take this vision from me! I do not wish to see!_

Haldir emerged to the dawn spreading its wings over the wreckage of the killing field, shedding golden light onto those still standing in the distance- and his prince's shrill scream of agony as he collapsed against the center of the tower wall. Legolas was weeping with the overwhelming burden upon him, dragging him downward into senselessness, and the Lothlorien elf knelt to gather the prince to his breast.

"My lord, we must get you back to the keep-"

Down the length of the tower platform, Haldir's captain was watching in bewilderment, his weapon lowering as he observed them.

Eyes streaming tears as the elf behind him laced both arms beneath his, drawing his head just above the stone wall as he began to take him inside, and as he opened them, the terrible images returned to his waking eyes...

...and he saw that one being still lived.

The endless hurricane of shadow and light suddenly had a dark blemish in its expanse, and Legolas realized with difficulty that he was looking at a single goblin in the distance, still in the throes of death but not across its threshold, radiating malice that hurt to witness- and the wicked point of an arrow emerged from beneath its half-buried form.

_It is he!_

With an unintelligible shout the prince's legs found their mooring and he tore himself away with the same ferocity as he had escaped the keep, shocking his protector into exclamation.

"My prince, what-?!"

Haldir's gaze caught the rush of Legolas' shimmering silhouette struggling with the other elven captain, wrenching the bow from his hands and leaping atop the wall, his head jerking as he saw his target below, teetering precariously over a sheer drop as he readied the shot with every drop of expert aim the prince had ever possessed. The bowstring groaned with tension as he drew it, each nail-length feeling as though he were drawing the full measure of it from strips of his own skin, sweat dripping down his temples as he warred against his own instability.

_He will not take you, Estel!_

His concentration on the fields below did not tell him of the danger as he edged toward the abyss, one braced bare foot sliding halfway off of the Deeping wall.

"_Legolas!_"

"_My lord!_"

Time seemed to slow. Both Haldir and his captain flung themselves forward to stop the Mirkwood elf before he dropped over the side of tower, barely catching onto him before he toppled into nothingness.

"Go-" Legolas bit off the word as his footing slid even further-

-and released.

The arrow flew just before the prince fell to his knees and almost off the edge of the keep, supported on either side by the elves of Lothlorien.

Blue eyes fixed on the dart as it left his hand and even as he fell his mind followed both his own shot and the bolt of the enemy, streaking past debris, Rohirrim and the great eagle beyond as one found its mark within the goblin's throat the moment it hit the trigger, and the next sped toward his beloved friend, passing with disheartening swiftness; he could see the look of weary relief on the man's face, the Evenstar pendant gleaming against his chest-

And the vision ended as the bolt buried itself into Aragorn's body.

Legolas fell into blackness, and there was not even time to contemplate whether the blow had been fatal or not.

~0~

"ESTEL!" Elladan screamed in despair and terror, leaping from Gwaihir's back an unsafe distance from the ground and rolling with the teeth-cracking impact, twisting into a dead run on his feet without care for his well-being as he saw Estel knocked off the horse by the deadly bolt. Elrond was even now skewering the offending goblin's heart on his blade with all the fires of hell in his snarl-twisted glare, Gwaihir barely landing on spread talons before his two riders took off in either direction.

Aragorn saw nothing, but his name registered vaguely in his scattered mind as he fell, accompanied by strange details:

A flash. Golden light. A glowing arrow. A dark projectile skimming over his chest and embedding itself in his shoulder, taking him off of the horse entirely as she screamed, running.

Pain. The beat of wings. Desperate, agonized voices calling his name.

Then all was dark.

~0~

"Estel? Estel, wake. Heed me, my son!"

He had never heard his father's voice so bitingly afraid before. A new voice joined him, tremulous and probing.

"Estel?"

Aragorn's eyes snapped open.

He knew that voice so very well.

Anxious sea green eyes met his, and he found his vision swimming for a different reason entirely. The eyes were young, younger than Elrond's, but they matched in color. The hair was dark and long, the skin only slightly dirtied from the filth of the skirmish, enormous wings the color of dying autumn leaves shifting and folding somewhere in the unfocused space behind him. His father's hands held his head, and he could feel the ancient elf's knees touching his shoulders above him as they knelt about him.

Hands grasped his, and Aragorn took them with tears of joy running down the sides of his face.

"Elladan," he rasped, his gaze shimmering. The word spoke volumes.

A smile covered the twin's face, and he shed tears of his own as he pressed his head to his brother's, long hair draping over him. "We thought we would not reach you in time," he admitted, eyes crushing closed in contemplation of the near miss. "There was an archer..."

_Archer... Legolas..._ Aragorn's heart swelled at the thought.

"Elladan... You are here... Is he-"

Elrond's voice broke through. "I do not know what has become of Thranduilion, my son. At the moment of his death he protected himself so strongly from interference that even now my sight cannot reach him. But there is most certainly some force at work here that we have not seen," he ended, his eyes distant with more than mere distraction.

"Elrohir!" Aragorn cried suddenly, drawing away from the ground with a jolt that sent waves of pain through him from his shoulder. "_Agh_-"

"Estel, you must still yourself," Elladan warned, grasping the man from back and front to lower him back to the earth without aid of his own efforts. "Ada, we need to tend this quickly-"

"No... Elrohir... Ada, El, you must find him..." The look in the wounded twin's eyes as he'd emerged from the ravaged corpses of the Uruk-hai filled his mind, and a shocking amount of terror clouded the Dunadan's plea. "I do not know if he can be saved; you must find Gandalf and..."

_What?!_

"Estel, what has happened to him?!" His fear infected Elladan with those words, and he began to shake. "I felt it- I felt much, but I could not understand it- _what has happened?!_"

"We lost you... The grief was killing him, El," Estel's voice was broken from where he lay. "I tried to bring him back, but... he wouldn't stop... He slayed so many, Elladan, so many of them, but they just kept coming... They hurt him sore, but still he dove in... I had never seen him so..." The man trailed off with a choking sound.

Elladan and his father pulled up short, exchanging glances. Each knew the depth of what had transpired; both twins had experienced something chillingly similar at the capture and torture of their mother at the hands of orc kind so many years ago. Seasons they would be gone, sometimes longer, disappearing into the wilds to slay as many orcs as crossed their path, to the very near loss of both. Only centuries of healing in the last homely house had stopped them from fading into shadow, the mythic elven spirit-death having brushed them with its wings of grief all too closely.

It appeared that their old enemy may have returned to claim half his prize.

"Ada," Aragorn called weakly, tilting his head back to seek him. "We must find him quickly; even if we can save his body, I fear so deeply for his mind... I do not know if we can call him away from this darkness."

Elrond's hands had gone deathly still with each passing word from his adopted son. He made certain that his voice would be steady before he quelled Aragorn's disparaging thoughts. _Elbereth, spare him..._

"We shall look for him, my son. Let us return to Theoden, and perhaps they may aid our search."

~0~

Eowyn was staring into the abandoned halls with eyes as wide as apples, regaining her breath, her gown stained with spattered streaks of black. The Uruks had suddenly stemmed in their rush upon them; she had whirled to face the next wave... only to find the broad archway empty save for her. The horns of her breathren sounded in the deep, and she sagged toward the wall, the bloodied blade still welded into her trembling hands.

The day had been won.

She less than rushed to the glittering caves to announce the Rohirrim's return, favoring her left leg, and Arwen met her at the entry in a rush of robes.

"Is it true?" the she-elf panted, her face filled with both joy and apprehension. "Have they come at last?"

Eowyn could do no more than nod, relief sapping her strength as easily as any skirmish. The dark-haired woman let out a sigh of utter hopefulness and rushed up the path toward the open air, as graceful as any doe on the steep passages of the deep. Eowyn knew that she needed to return to the caves and muster the able-bodied to aid those still outside, but she too could not wait to see them any longer. The shield maiden heard her murmur softly to herself as they ascended the stairs:

"Oh, Estel. Please may he be safe."

Eowyn paused in her tailing of the other woman as the name registered.

_That was the name that Lord Elrohir_...

A pang as dark and rending as any orc weapon shot through her heart, and she knew suddenly this could only be the giver of the jewel she had heard of from Lord Aragorn, on the road to their fortress that seemed such a long time ago. His heart belonged to this woman, and apparently hers to him. Eowyn had hoped so deeply that perhaps, with no chance of his love's return that she...

The shielf maiden banished the hurt from her heart as fully as she could for the moment, laying down her sword to rid herself of the extra weight, and continued up the path behind her. Their people were saved, and there were those who needed aid. She would not dwell on such things before their time.

In tandem the two women mounted the main entrance, Arwen's midnight gown and Eowyn's linen white battle dress flowing in symmetric patterns with the winds of the dawn. The beauty of both faces as the sunlight hit them were a picture of all the fairness of the free peoples of Middle Earth, a symbol of the final alliance of elves and men that had saved them all that night.

The Evenstar's pale skin was lit with her elation, the dark of her mane floating outward as the cool air hit her from below, and a prayer escaped her blushed lips as the view of the battle's end spread out before them.

"_Hannon le. Elbereth Gilthoniel_, thank you," she breathed.

Sun shone in sparkling arrays off the armour and shields of Eomer's distant horsemen, and even though dirtied with all the filth of a volcanic eruption in its magnitude, Helm's Deep was still theirs.

Eowyn found her eyes wet with her gratitude, a sweet, sad smile taking her mouth despite herself. The morning breeze caught her ripples of hair and bore them aloft, as if displaying a proud, enduring banner of victory to the soldiers below, and golden sun warmed her skin at last.

Hope yet reigned this day.

~0~

_Next time: the finding of Elrohir and the twins reunite at last! STAY TUNED._

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

~0~

GUH. YOU'RE WELCOME. I HAVE BEEN WRITING NONSTOP, AND WHEN I'M NOT WRITING I'M BRAINSTORMING.

I wanted this to end better than the last chapter; I know it was a cliffhanger, but not by much, seeing as you guys got ALL THIS in only three days! I hope you enjoy the music; to me it really seems like the experience isn't complete without it. 

It's getting to the point where the sheer brotherhood shared between the Fellowship, esp. Aragorn and Legolas, and of course the non-Fellowship bonding of the twins and Elrond to both Aragorn and Legolas, cannot be ruined for me. I see slash pictures of them with their faces real close, or hugging each other while sleeping, and it's such a strong bond of brotherhood I can't even bring myself to misinterperet when that's what the picture was meant to be. It's quite relieving, actually. XD If the picture is just explicit slash, then I can't even see it as them... Should be a classified as freaking super power. WIN.

I am still on the case, as there is much to still wrap up here: there is a lot that needs doing before they can even attempt the next battle in Gondor, which I may or may not be up to writing. After this, I think it's high time Immortal Stranger got updated. And FINISHED.

See you all next week. It's a promise. Thank you to all the faithful!


	15. Chapter 15: Shadow Meets Light

I took a break from writing over last weekend, but not from the world of this story. 

I took my headphones, went into a nearby forest with a dried up lake bed and ran through the woods at breakneck speed in knee high boots and a longcoat for an entire hour and a half. I dodged trees, leaped over fallen logs and climbed to the top of whatever sturdy tree I could manage to the music I gave you all earlier. The lake bed looked EXACTLY like the Dead Marshes, and God help me if the forest wasn't covered with a carpet of dead leaves exactly like the forests the Fellowship camped in before Boromir was killed. I found a chunk of wood carved into a diamond by a beaver, several shells, some beautiful white quartz and a dead raccoon. I was a ranger for an afternoon, and it was phenomenal.

I am a lost cause. XD Enjoy the new chapter and tell me what you think! 

**YOU MUST LISTEN TO THIS FOR THE REUNION SCENE. IT'S NOT OPTIONAL. JUST DO IT. IT'S... IT'S SO GOOD.** The music for this chapter is: (again, at the youtube homepage, just add this:)

/watch?v=NaJ3WtWOQTw

Another pretty option for the end of El and El's scene is the first four minutes of this:

/watch?v=c7tc0VfZwtk

Enjoy yourselves! It nearly KILLED me, so. XDD

My two Guests, Lune, Portrait of a Scribe, Life is like a potato, Ireland Ranger and HAAA Dread Pirate Rinja! (Blast from the Past!): thank you all for your wonderful reviews! You really do keep me going and get my heart pounding about this story. I love you all so much, and especially thank you for staying with me after so long! You are amazing human beings! (Apologies if I'm wrong; I'm assuming none of you are elves, hobbits or dwarves?)

Now the scene we've all been waiting for. Me included!

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

~0~

**Chapter Fifteen: Shadow Meets Light**

~0~

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Quiet had descended on the morning fields of Rohan.

The battle's end had brought more work to be done, and those who hadn't already collapsed into sleep at their return were brought to varying stations around the remnants of the Deeping Wall. The stark silence in the outer valley was sharply contrasted with the bustle of the able-bodied within the keep. As close a shave as victory had been, they would need every resource left to them in the wake of the once-ravaging piles of carrion that lay in hills beyond the fortress.

Light was flooding over the hilltops and snowy peaks, giving some small comfort to those below as they ventured out of the new opening that had been blasted into the fortress by the Uruk-hai. The remaining forces of Men who had held fast against Saruman's armies were now faced with the task of binding wounds, finding their dead and gathering what supplies they had left. The families below were alerted to the conquest of the day, and as lines of mounted Rohirrim began their return to Helm's Deep, triage and several assembly lines of able-bodied men, women and children were lending their hands in whatever way they could.

Discarded blankets and clothing beyond repair was being piled before the door to the House of Healing: more a large, high-ceilinged room in the upper right level of the keep than an entire house, but the name remained. A trio of flaxen haired women of varying ages were tearing the cloth into strips and rolling them into compresses, making bandages as quickly as possible in prediction of the survivors' need of them.

The elder women who were skilled in healing and those who would not leave their loved ones scattered the floor of the room along with the injured, meager cots and gathered hunting furs adorning the cold cobblestones to comfort them. A hunting party had already been sent out across the peaks to gather whatever healing herbs might still cling to the mountainsides, and further below in the ground levels steam began to rise from fires and boiling pots as more families began making meals for the hungry.

They were battered, they were weakened, and they were grieving, but the house of Rohan still stood true.

"Leave the riding leathers! They'll never hold-"

"Move three guards to the Tower, we will need eyes on the mountains to warn us if their warg riders return-"

"Mama, why? Where is he?!"

"Haleth, thank the heavens! We thought-"

"No! No, no he can't be, I saw him not an hour ago-"

"-not enough for the whole family-"

"Keep him warm, that's the best we can do for him now-"

"One side for wounded here-"

"Clear the doors! The riders will be at the gate!"

"Hands to the stables-"

Gandalf had taken a quick sweep of the fortress as he had returned, ensuring that those who had need were tended and that the human clockwork of the keep was running smoothly to regain its strength. Theoden himself had also stopped in his tracks to aid a woman as she fell while running along the hay strewn walkway with a large basket of roots, personally returning them to the woven container before sending her on her way. The wizard could feel how far his spirit had broken during the invasion, and it was obvious the son of Thengel was going to repay his people for his own weakness if he had to clean horse troughs on hands and knees with the last of the stable hands to do it.

Forgiveness of self would come at a far higher price.

"Prepare a search party," Gandalf instructed as Theoden returned to his side. "We must find the survivors, should they remain."

Theoden's eyes were hard as he nodded, turning to find Gamling and give the order. The odds were slim at best, but any man still buried in that hellish pit did not deserve to stay there if they had survived. More than that, the mothers, wives and children who still awaited their soldier's return had a right to bury them, were they able.

His eyes clouded. It had been no comfort to Theoden to bury his own, but he would not deny them such small mercies were they his to give.

The Istar did not linger to see his request fulfilled. Gandalf knew that between his almost certain duties in the House of Healing and finding Elrond's missing child, his time would be precious little. A sweep of robes signalling his departure, the old wizard descended the stairway into the belly of the keep and headed for the creeping shadow he felt in one direction in particular, his need for answers winning out over his responsibilities at last.

This force would need tending to.

~0~

Aragorn did not enjoy his first ride atop the King of the Great Eagles as much as he had hoped as a small boy.

His position was tenuous at best, but Elrond's steadying hand on his chest brought him more comfort than he could have hoped. It had been too long since they had last spoken, and bitterly at that. He grasped the Lord of Imladris' fingers firmly with his own, a brief squeeze from his adoptive father's grip sending a pulse of warmth into his heart.

Elrond too had missed his youngest son. Neither had wished the pain that lay between them, and their disquieted parting had not erased the decades they had together: cold nights when he had wrapped the human child in woolen blankets by the fire in his lap, nights that did not touch the strength of the elves but brought bitter chill to the son of Arathorn. Lessons in hunting and tracking alongside his older brothers, stories of battles long past to a twenty-year youngling, lounging on a balustrade of the great hall like when he was a boy, knowing that he would be gone with the other rangers on the morrow...

Holding him steady against the rocking of beating wings and the occasional slide down toward the open sky as he lay prone, clinging to the feathers of the great eagle, his father and brother nestled the man between them as Gwaihir glided to the end of the expanse and touched down lightly at the entrance to the ruined fortress. The arrival sent women, children and even a few men running for cover in their alien perception of the giant beast.

"Lord Aragorn!"

"He is alive!"

In the gap between the gathering crowd of Rohirrim as they watched the Great Eagle deposit two Firstborn upon their doorstep, one face broke through and cried out for joy as she saw them return. The revealing of the younger elf's countenance as he dismounted finally sent her reeling towards them in her startlement, and she called for him as she broke into a dead run, dark skirts flying in utter abandon:

"_Elladan!_"

Aragorn's breath caught where he lay atop Gwaihir's back, knowing her voice instantly. The very sound of her was like bells in springtime, the calling of doves in a vale.

Arwen Undomiel moved swiftly through the humans surrounding them, literally shining with radiant delight and threw herself upon the elven rider clad in only breeches and soft boots, relishing the very feel of his presence, the soothing warmth of him, the smell of his hair as she thoroughly kissed every inch of her brother's face. Elladan had the presence of mind to look at least slightly embarrassed, but he was more than happy to see his dear sister as well. Welcome faces were a gift after so much death.

The twin dropped his sword to the dirt and held her to him, not having the will or sentience for more. She crushed her face into his tousled hair, nearly faint with relief.

"_Gwador-nin, _when I felt you break from us in the caves, I thought-"

"I am well, my dear sister," Elladan assured her, stifling her enthusiasm as their father steadied Aragorn's rise from their feathered mount.

Lord Elrond's face froze entirely for no more than a second at the sight of his daughter, but the wave of anguish he felt at the realization that she could no longer travel to the Havens nearly overcame him. It was only the full six thousand years worth of self-control he had at his disposal that kept him from crying aloud. The Lord of Imladris swept the emotions aside and locked them away in the farthest corner of his heart. Their arrival had already dealt so much for his spirit to withstand; they would have words as time allowed.

"We must get him to the Healing House," Elrond directed, indicating that they should press on as he and his youngest son made their way around the vast wingspan of the Great Eagle to where his children stood. "I will need a clear place to tend Estel and the others."

Joy turned to horror as Arwen saw the quills of an arrow protruding from her love's shoulder, and he leaned heavily on their father's shoulder for support as he set foot on the rocky ground.

"Estel!" the dark-haired elf maiden cried, her hand unconsciously going to her mouth at the dark stain on his clothing.

"He will be well, my daughter," Elrond calmed her, his face set in a mask of occupied determination. The ranger seemed to welcome the elf lord's assistance as he staggered upright, eyes focusing blearily on the maiden rushing toward him.

"Arwen," he breathed, more of a croak than any real speech.

He didn't care how he must have looked, nor how he sounded. The Evenstar was _here_, and that was enough to soothe every hurt he had. Valar, but she was beautiful. As beautiful as the day he had first spied her in the trees, a vision from the stars themselves. The man could not tear his eyes from her. His mind was not yet too muddled to forget the words he and his father had exchanged at the gates of the last homely house, and he had enough capacity for thought not to reach for her as she examined the wound, pale fingers parting the cloth, eyes dark with worry.

Satisfied that he would not meet his end from the injury, Arwen turned to caress her father's cheek. "_Mae govanen_. Well met, Ada," she murmured, searching his eyes with the greeting.

The taller elf smiled at her softly, not without a hint of sadness, nodding to purge her thoughts of any possible fear of bitterness against her.

"Well met, my child," Elrond told her, hefting the ranger further onto his shoulder as he slid down the velvet robes. "Let us speak in more depth once we are inside-"

"My lord Aragorn!"

The ranger lifted his head to see Gamling in a mad rush down the length of the path leading into the carrion fields, reaching them in blur of speech that began as soon as he arrived:

"My lord, there is a- a-an elven warrior, in the deep, we believe it is your brother; My men are- he was badly wounded and so we tried to restrain him, but he attacked- you must come quickly, he's just beyond the hills before the breach of the outer wall-"

Two things happened at once.

First, Elladan's face had begun to fill with apprehension, and his eyes had widened further and further until the man had uttered the location of the warrior in question. Obsession did not begin to describe the look in his eyes as he sped away, leaving the rest of his family to watch as he dashed into the killing fields with barely a whisper of sound, dark hair swept fully horizontal by the wind in his wake. The Rohirrim following Gamling shouted in surprise as the Eldar barreled through them with inhuman speed, bowling them over with his passage and leaping like a deer over the length of a fallen war horse in his breakneck charge to the carrior plains beyond the wall.

The second happening was when Elrond's eyes unfocused in a current of vision, the entire scenario stretching before him, reaching back even before the time of the Men's discovery of said warrior. It played as if he were experiencing all of it before his waking eyes:

_A dark pit of evil held him, the stench of bodies soaked in blood, dismembered orcs falling around him, a crack of light above burning him as he crawled from beneath them to fulfill his purpose, the only purpose left to him now that he was alone, no more of the Eldar still living to know what he bore... There was the occasional squeal as a still-breathing monster was put down, and vengeance gave him the strength to rise despite the pain and heft another blade over his shoulder, treading the field like a dark angel of justice come to wreak judgment upon the world..._

_But worst of all, there was no music left within him. The song of Illuvitar was all but spent, passing him by as indifferently as the river passes the shore._

It was at this realization that his composure failed him at last.

"Elrohir!"

Everyone turned to stare at Lord Elrond as he cried out in distress and disbelief at the mental image of his lost, heart-wounded son.

He gasped as if he had been struck, pulling back from the intrusion with a sense of revulsion at seeing this come to pass in any Eldar, let alone _his son_, nearly dropping Aragorn as the darkness engulfed him.

_Oh, my son... My poor child!_

Arwen felt the stirrings of panic as her ever-calm, ever-composed Ada looked unseeing into the fields and wept a single tear at what foul aftermath the battle had wrought upon them that they could not yet see. The expression he bore was unlike any she had ever witnessed upon him, and Aragorn swiftly lay a hand on his father's breast, searching his face with childlike fear for answers.

"Ada?" Aragorn pressed him as they both nearly went to their knees, Arwen catching their father's face in her cool hands.

"Ada,_ man cenich?! _What do you see?!"

"You may have been right, Estel," Elrond said, his voice thick with emotion. He dared not converse above a whisper. "I cannot see if he will ever emerge from the Shadow that has beset him." The Lord of Imladris could no longer speak, for he no longer knew within himself if it were preferable for his child's injuries to claim him, or for the Shadow to leave him living and take his soul.

That truth rent him speechless, and no less tortured than the day that his brother Elros had departed this world.

His hand went to his face, as if that could shield it from him somehow, and he said no more, fighting back the grief.

Aragorn felt himself choke at his admission. Not to escape the shadow meant the same fate for any elf: the slow transformation into orc kind that created every creature they had fought that night. He felt ill. The words 'fate worse than death' were not to be applied lightly to any immortal, but... could Elrohir be turning? Knowing it had been possible was a heavy burden in itself, but hearing it from his father's own mouth...

His eyes burned in denial. No. They had not survived this long to lose his brothers in the waking world, not after all they had bled and died for, claiming the lands of Arda with banner and lordship alike. The helpless torment he still carried from their ordeal in the glittering caves was a scar in his heart that he would bear for the remainder of his days, but the hopelessness that had quenched his faltering spirit would never again take him for its own. That much he could still swear. His chest tightened.

If not for himself, then for Legolas.

The ranger broke away from them and ran in a buckling stride that lengthened on his uninjured side to stave off the pain from his abused leg, following the path that Elladan had taken into the silent battlefield.

~0~

"Though here at journey's end I lie  
In darkness buried deep,  
Beyond all towers strong and high,  
Beyond all mountains steep,  
Above all shadows rides the Sun  
And Stars for ever dwell:  
I will not say the Day is done,  
Nor bid the Stars farewell."

_Journey's End _-J.R.R. Tolkien

~0~

"_You will not lay hands on me!_" Horses screamed and riders bellowed orders as a black figure in orc armour faced the ten men, demanding that they leave him be. It was chaos, and half the Rohirrim were bickering with each other as to whether they should leave or take him by force:

"Back away from him!"

"Do not touch him! Sir, we must wait for Master Gamling's return!"

"He's right sir; better to leave him be until-"

"But he must be tended- look at him!"

The search party had expected a response from any Uruk-hai that happened to have survived should they encounter it, and that was where the trouble had started. The human soldiers had seen a dark figure shoving his way from beneath a pile of heavily muscled corpses and acted accordingly. The Men's original reaction of fear and their offensive attack had drawn the creature's blade to bear on them, but it was only then that they saw the red blood that still flowed from a great wound in its side and the smaller, more human features that they realized their mistake.

Tapered ears gracing his head were definitive proof that an elf had survived the warfare, but those of them who recognized him from his stand within the keep refused to come any nearer. They had seen what this elf was capable of, and those images would not fade from their minds so long as they lived to see them.

"_Do NOT approach me!_" the warrior commanded, spittle flicking from his teeth as he screamed, his sword drawn in both shaking hands.

"Listen to the man, sir," one Rohirrim soldier said crisply as luminous green eyes regarded them in an unsettling parody of a warg considering prey. "This elf held off the _whole_ of them toward the end. I bain't wanting to do nothing he might look upon as... unwelcome, if you take my meaning sir."

The higher ranking horseman took in the state of the elf's dress: the tattered clothes, the chipped pieces of randomly scattered steel armour confiscated from former victims, the deeply-cracked blade he seemed loathe to discard even now... all still stained and dripping with orc blood as if he had bathed in it.

While his body seemed on the verge of collapse, his eyes were lit with the breaking gleam of the Fires Below.

The man was inclined to agree with his comrade: they need not upset such a being.

All of a sudden, the warrior whipped his head to the side and staggered backward, putting them all on edge with the movement, and in more of a tumble than a step he plunged his sword into a giant goblin that lay a few sword-lengths behind him. They saw that the monster still bled, and perhaps had even been breathing before the elf had taken preventative measures against it.

Every man went still at the wracking, choked inhalation that stemmed from the warrior's mouth.

The elf was weeping.

No one could bring themselves to move.

Every sound, every move he made was plain in the silence: the jingling of the black gauntlet buckles as they shifted with his blow, the skidding of faltering feet as the warrior struggled slowly, painfully to stand and walk, the occasional patter of his blood mingling with that of the carrion beneath him... and the gasping, wrenching breaths that marked masculine sobs as he continued to forge on: the last soul fighting a battle that had long since ended. His head nearly reached the dirt as he leaned against the deeply embedded weapon, still hilt-deep in orcen flesh, his fingers almost slipping before ripping it out again, and it sent him reeling backward as he fought unconsciousness to pursue his next victim.

No one would be able to stop him, they knew, not without his leave or until he collapsed weaponless, and by then...

All the horsemen could do was watch as the pitiable warrior bled to death in front of them, his swiftly dulling eyes searching the grounds for any target left to destroy, and there were no more thoughts within him.

"Valar help him," someone said into the quiet, and they watched grieving silence as he drifted on to another pile of corpses, the elf's devastated body swiftly crumbling, his strength waning with each dragging step. The blackened twin saw the world fading before him, raising his blade anew for an unknown enemy that perhaps only lingered in his mind...

There was nothing for him here.

"_**Elrohir!**_"

As if in answer to the Man's plea, the high trumpet call of a crying voice came vaulting over the uneven terrain, echoing into the deep, and the Rohirrim found themselves startled anew:

The elf's black face actually lifted in utter shock, mouth dropping open...

...and a sliver of desperate hope graced his dead eyes.

Elrohir found himself responding to the call as if Illuvatar himself had indeed called his name, the movement both swift and transformational of his blank, tear-streaked features. When it came again, it was closer and much more deafening in its intensity, and there was no denying that voice as it screamed for him:

"_**ELROHIR!**_"

No.

It couldn't be.

It _couldn't_ be. That wasn't...

It wasn't possible.

Elrohir was shuddering with weakness, but the shivers that cry had sent through him came from something else entirely: a vulnerable apprehension that cut him to the quick and stole his breath. The blackened elf was barely able to utter the name for fear of it all being one giant ruse, a cruel joke from the Valar meant to pain him further. But he had no choice; it _had_ to be spoken aloud.

Perhaps that would make it real.

"..._Elladan...?_" he whispered, barely audible and little more than a breath in the winds sweeping across the valley floor.

The shaking twin looked up with reluctance toward the high road that had been carved into the carnage, the surrounding band of Rohirrim following his gaze with undisguised, baffled curiosity, the stone walls of Helm's Deep barely visible in the blurred backdrop of mountains and snow that surrounded the valley.

There was someone approaching them, a figure clothed in light that glimmered in blue and white crystal patterns to his eyes, shimmering like a mirage in the heat of the desert.

That voice. That familiar connection trickling into him like melting snow, refreshing his soul in ways he had thought lost to him forever.

Could... could it be?

"_Elladan,_" he breathed, eyes wide and suddenly brilliant beneath the layers of blood and offal blanketing his skin. The Rohirrim stared, caught by surprise as the sword that they could not take from him was instantly dropped to the wayside with a loud clatter, and he stepped toward the direction of the call, forcing them to back away from him as he took another shuddering step.

The shining silhouette drew closer at a high speed not possible for a Man. Only an elf could fly so, and it was an elf that approached them.

A flame caught within his breast, rising like a growing bonfire with unchecked momentum, bringing him taller on his feet and forcing them to move, propelling him forward as if tugged onward by his very heart itself. A single step, then another, then another, then another until he was walking swiftly, then even more as he quickened his pace to a run, barely avoiding being snagged on protruding spears and arrows as he passed them.

It could not be, it could not be, it could not-

His eyes were clouded, the being so radiant in his shadow-painted gaze that it _hurt_ to look at him, but as the light intensified and seared him from within, he saw more and more clearly the dark hair like his own, the gait so similar to his, the same color of riding breeches he had chosen before they left Imladris that morning, the same leather boots, the same braids in his hair. The closer he drew, the more details spurred his flight: the single eyebrow that he always cocked when he was distressed whether he knew it or not, the same color eyes that spoke of the sea, the strong jaw and brow line they had both inherited from their father...

It was him. It was Elladan.

He was alive.

Suddenly breathing became real, nourishing breath instead of stale, empty air. His pain was proof that this was real and that he had survived. The ground beneath his feet was supporting him, not simply existing for him to be crushed upon, and the tears that streaked his face fell to cleanse him of the grief and bitter shadow that had left him no more than a shell with his brother's departure.

"Elladan," Elrohir repeated, over and over, his name on each breath as the sons of Elrond rushed closer and closer at matching speed, leaving the Men behind in awe the sheer transformation the elven warrior had undergone from this new being's beckoning. Light sped toward dark and he felt his heart swelling with each step:

"Elladan. Elladan. Elladan. Elladan. _Elladan!_"

With every repetition his voice grew stronger, louder, until he was crying his brother's name with all the strength he had ever possessed, his head growing light from the volume. It was both incredulous and desperate, as if his name alone would save him from the pain, from the darkness-

"Elrohir, no! Stop, _gwanur!_"

The sound was anguished now; he could tell from his twin's face that he wanted him to cease his running, that the wounds he bore would be worsened by such action, but he could no more have stopped him in his wild approach than he could have barred a tidal wave with his bare hands.

Both names blurred in matching tones from either throat as they took the last few lengths to their respective goals, and hit home.

"_ELLADAN!_"

"_ELROHIR!_"

It was like two halves of a whole reuniting at last.

They had crossed the distance in more ways than one, and it was only the final failure of Elrohir's body that kept them from crashing into each other as they met, his head striking against Elladan's chest in his momentum. His legs collapsed beneath him as the last of his strength left his body, and he toppled forward to meet the other twin's midsection as he clutched him close to his heart, arms wrapping in immovable rings around his brother's bare torso, his bloodied fingers digging deep into his flesh. Elladan yanked beneath his arms to catch him up to him, as well as to save him from crashing into the ground and further damaging himself, his eyes brimming with tears of both joy and worry.

"_Elladan... Elladan..._"

"Elrohir," the elder twin whispered to him as if in prayer, both terrified at his physical state and overjoyed that it was still his brother who gazed at him from behind glazed green eyes. He had feared there would be nothing left of his twin's soul to greet him at his return, and his heart sang with gratitude with every familiar expression that took his face, his own caught between elation and petrified concern.

Several of the Men had simply stopped in their tracks, seeing an exact copy of the black statue of a man that they had feared and respected, now cradling what looked like _himself_ while bearing not so much as a blemish. Elvish magic could swiftly be blamed for these happenings, but that did not make the Rohirrim any less spellbound by their ethereal appearance. The beams of sunlight striking the twins from the chilly mountain peaks turned them into a shining vision amidst the carnage, Elladan's soft blue-white glow strengthening with the sun's aid, framing them like a graceful portrait of elven myth in their embrace.

"Tis' disconcerting, I tell you that," someone muttered, barely daring to speak as Elladan worked swiftly to bind his brother's grievous hurts.

"_Elladan,_" Elrohir continued softly murmuring where they had fallen, as if it gave him comfort to hear of him as well as see him, forcing this to be truth, to be real. His fingers tangled in the long tresses at his twin's back, as if he could not possibly hope to hold enough of him at once. "_Elladan..."_

"Oh, El," Elladan lamented, hugging him tightly and rocking the damaged, filthy body with his own. The tortures he had suffered inside and out from their separation was emphasized by the state of his body, and the elder of them observed it with no small amount of pain, feeling his stomach clench with shame.

_If I had known he would come to this, I would never have left..._

Somewhere under the agony in his limbs and the burning in his chest, Elrohir saw that Elladan bore nothing on his bare skin but light scars, and he was wholly unharmed. Warmth claimed him for the first time since his twin's perceived death, and he breathed in Elladan's presence with a need akin to starvation as they lay melded together, clinging to each other in a reversed mirror image.

"_El... Elladan,_" he murmured, breathy with exhaustion but smiling nonetheless. "Elladan... you live... you live..."

"Yes, _gwanur-nin_, and so must you. Do not leave now to spite me, El!" The gibe was terse and half-hearted; Elladan was hurriedly keeping one arm around him while stripping a section of cloth from somewhere on the ground to press hard against his leaking side, allowing for the embrace only after securing the compress to stop his bleeding.

One Rohirrim took this as an opening: "My lord, can he be moved?"

"What supplies can we offer?" one man demanded, three of the band following swiftly after to aid him in dressing the downed elf now that he was stable, two of their horses tugging frantically at their bits in obvious desire to help the fallen Firstborn.

"Give me your cloak, Telen-"

Another soldier knelt to offer the garment, strewing it about Elrohir's blood-soaked, shivering shoulders as the identical Firstborn spoke to him.

"I need some water, and a long strip of leather for a tourniquet," he instructed, cradling Elrohir beneath his chin to steady him as he tied off the makeshift bandage one-handed and moved to wrap him further in his embrace. One of the mounted Rohirrim headed back in the direction of the keep to retrieve the items, spurring the animal into a hard gallop.

"_You came back,_" Elrohir gasped softly, grimacing as the compress pushed farther into his wound only to continue smiling as he caught sight of his brother's face anew through the agony, his speech clearing slightly. "I couldn't... I couldn't _see_ without you El... The light... I couldn't-"

"It is well now, Elrohir," Elladan shushed him, twisting him further off of the ground and into his lap to keep as much physical contact as possible, hoping and praying that their combined presence would help the healing and stave off the Shadow before it was too late. "Please, my brother, we have come this far. Do not desert me now that there is no need of it!"

Elrohir sighed with a relief too great to be spoken, barely seeming to hear his words but reveling in the familiar tone that formed them. The hands around him soothed with as great a tenderness as the branding of the wounds he bore, and he let out a small sob of sheer joy, leaning his head further against his twin.

Were it possible, he would not see this moment end for an age.

"I held them off, El..." the fallen twin said weakly. "I did not give them... Estel... He is safe... He..."

"I know you did, _gwanur-nin_," the elder twin nodded reassuringly. "You don't have to explain. You fought well."

Elladan pressed a kiss to the top of Elrohir's dirtied head, arms encircling him in a cocoon of healing warmth, keeping him as close as physical embodiment allowed, The contact let him feel a little more of his twin's familiar presence that their almost-severed bond once shared between them.

In response to the touch, the thread of link left between them widened.

Elladan abruptly let out a bark of startled pain, nearly dropping Elrohir in his shock. "_What-?!_" He froze, gaping at his own hand.

"My lord?!"

Lifting the hand before his face, the elf watched in horror as multiple shadowed marks began to mar his smooth skin, spreading from fingertips slowly toward his elbow, and driving deeper an invisible arrow seemed to pierce into him, drawing a line of fresh blood down the length of his wrist. A quick glance confirmed it: Elrohir bore an arrow in the center of his left forearm. With their close proximity to each other renewed, the bond was opening, once more halving both good and ill between them.

The elf's insides went deathly cold. It could not be. Not again!

"_You left us, El..._" Elrohir's eyes were pained and milky, now seeing neither light nor dark about him, oblivious of his twin's distress as he faded. "_You left, and..._"

"And that is exactly why I know you will not do the same," he warned him, tears spilling over his furious, impassioned face in sharp contrast with the tenderness of his fingers as he stroked his twin's cheek. "We are together now, and there is not a force in Arda that will make me leave your side."

Elrohir's grin widened, happiness mixed with torment on his features as he ebbed away from consciousness.

"_Together..._"

"Elrohir!" he pleaded sharply, seeing his brother's soul slipping before his very eyes, powerless to stop it. "No! You cannot- _ah!_"

Just before Elladan could lose his grip on his fractured calm entirely, a weathered hand placed itself over his eyes and forehead, forcing him to close them.

"Peace, son of Elrond."

That deep, authoritative tone could only have belonged to one stern, occupied white wizard.

Relief warred with fear in his heart. "M-Mithrandir," he stammered blindly, trembling. "Do not take him from me; please we_ must _save him-"

"Be still, young one! Do not open your eyes until I give you leave." He felt the Istar's other hand slide over Elrohir's stilled face as well. "He can be saved, but we must not allow this malady to affect you as well. Still yourself until I have finished here. He will be quite dependent upon you shortly. We must save your strength for it." The wizard was indeed silver-tongued; he knew just how to effectively capture the mind of those that encountered him.

Elladan nodded convulsively and tried to calm himself as his brother's heavy, silent weight remained so horribly cold in his arms.

The wizard wove his web of musical speech with practised ease, though not without effort it seemed. Gandalf's soft chanting seemed to last forever, and he heard their younger brother, father and sister making their way down the path towards them. The Lord of Imladris could not have been more grateful for his presence than he was at that moment.

"El, is he-"

"Estel, leave them be," Elrond's sharp voice commanded him. "Mithrandir must finish this work swiftly." A slight straightness of his tone said that their father was using his Sight as he spoke, and there was a measure of hope in it that stilled his son's shaking hands somewhat.

Elladan forced himself not to move as the blood continued to drip down his elbow and onto his leg, his shoulders shivering violently at the thought of another possible experience like before as the fate that brought them to ruin. His emotions warred within him. If they were not connected, how could he hope to aid his brother's spiritual battle with the Enemy?

But if they both laid so close to death that they might not have the will to overcome such darkness... what then?

At long last he felt a tingling in his fingertips that spread over the rest of his body bone-deep, and he could feel the hole from the arrowhead closing from within, an unsettling wet sucking sound making him start gently as the wound healed all the way up to the surface of his skin. He shook as if from cold, not willing to admit just how deeply it had terrified him to have to face the possibility of going through such torment again, knowing that both of them would perish if either's strength were to fail.

Warm hands left them and Elladan leaned over his twin's limp body in sharp inspection, finding with relief that breath still lifted his chest in a steady rhythm.

"El-"

"We've no time," Gandalf interrupted, sweeping the battered Firstborn into his arms and dragging Eladan along with him to where Shadowfax waited, stamping impatiently. "To the House of Healing and I will explain once we have banished this darkness. Come, young one!" The last utterance was accompanied by a nod in Elrond's direction.

To the surprise of all, Elrond stepped forward and took his eldest son from Gandalf's grasp, placing his own hand where the wizard's had lain moments prior. "Be at peace, my son," he bid him. "We must keep you from the shadow until your moment has come. Let us away."

Elladan could do no more than nod, leaning on his father's shoulder as Arwen and Aragorn trailed behind them.

There was much to be done, and time was of the essence.

~0~

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

~0~

QUICK Poll: Am I bringing Thranduil into this little adventure? It seems to me if Elrond can feel his sons' distress, then Thranduil would damn well traverse the whole of Arda to go to where his son was if he felt him die. But, I will give you all the courtesy of letting me know what happens here. Fan suggestions have sparked my typing fingertips in some wonderful ways until now, so I ask you: IS THRANDUIL TAKING AN ENTOURAGE TO ROHAN TO FIND LEGOLAS? Or are we keeping him in Mirkwood? Only you can decide! Review!

NEXT TIME: Legolas' Reveal! (Yeah. He needs a whole chapter to himself. LOL.)

On a side note, my grandmother is most likely leaving us in the next few days, so if you find time to review, I would really appreciate it. Writing has been cathartic, and I love reading what you all have to say. Gimme a review carrot to cheer up the plot bunny? Again, thank you all so much. See you next chapter!

(It's half written. No worries!)


	16. Chapter 16: And Light Takes The Dark

TRANSLATION: _Fea_ = soul, spirit; _muindor-nin_ = my brother (by blood)

I am TERRIBLY sorry for the delay; there's been a lot happening lately. I was horribly ill for 2-3 weeks and then had to go down to be at my Mimi's for a while with my daughter. She is dying of acute leukemia. It mostly hurts because she didn't think she'd still be here and is so very tired. The two of us being there helped I think. I'd never been there for someone at their death bed before. On top of that, a friend of mine from a Japan program five years ago killed himself the day after the Connecticut thing. 

Let's say there's been a lot of soul-searching and contemplation for me this last week. For those of you who said you would pray for her and me, thank you so very much. I really appreciate it, and I think it is helping a LOT. _Hannon le, _thank you everyone. 

For the scene where Legolas enters, more music! (and seriously, if you aren't listening to these while reading, you are totally cheating yourself of a great experience.) To listen, add this to the youtube homepage address:

/watch?v=2VfbDZ155_w

And another that just seemed like a good choice for this chapter:

/watch?v=XFEAzP1Zm-A&list=WL48281C39A0BE4BA1&index=1

And another bonus! Just for epic scenes period in any LotR fic you read if you're on an epicosity binge.

/watch?v=jeuzYv9K3BM&list=HL1357070060

As some of you may have noticed, I have been editing all past chapters a bit. I tried to keep them mostly the same and edit out mistakes, or catch strange speech patterns should they arise. I hope you enjoy the experience, as the story seems to be coming along in a different way now that I'm twenty-five and not fifteen. I hope it is for the better!

POLL RESULT: **Thranduil it is**... but not right now. Lune changed my mind and I actually rewrote half the chapter because it didn't fit, after she made me see the light, so to speak. But eventually... All hail the King! (Of Hotness, Frat Parties and Mirkwood alike; the memes out there are hilarious. XD) I do believe he would have a measure of foresight as well, and what Elven parent wouldn't feel their son's death? But yes, he is going to _leave the field_ back in Mirkwood to see if his son is alive and well. Holy crud. 

And if my Elvish is wrong, I apologize, but I'm taking my cues from the famous Cassia and Siobhan. (CHECK THEM OUT if you haven't already. **BEST. LotR FANFICTIONS. EVER.** The Mellon Chronicles. GREAT works. Message me for their site address.)

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

~0~

**Chapter Sixteen: And Light Takes The Dark**

~0~

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Make way!"

The path to the House of Healing was blocked at every turn, but the presence of the elves parted the Men like winds through high fields. Gawkers were shoved to the wayside by the white wizard none too gently as they ascended the stairs to the infirmary, Elrond keeping his son as close possible while Gandalf carried the body of the fallen elf with both arms hooked under and around him, balancing his head against his chest with one hand spread fully over the elf's heart. There was something else at work in the Istar's touch even as they climbed, the elf lord knew.

Those who recognized the elf from his one man rampage against Saruman's army could not help but stop in a moment of reverence, a few bowed heads dotting the crowd as they passed. No one expected this man to survive, but his efforts had saved many. A few more of them held back their kinsmen in hopes of moving the six along in their swift journey to the House of Healing:

"Clear the path!"

"Give them room! Make way!"

"Come back here, Breda-"

A small blonde child dressed in rags placed a single sprig of lilac flowers over Elrohir's breast, scurrying away as quickly as she'd come. The little girl's gesture was both sweet and forebodingly funereal.

Arwen had kept Estel closely following, replacing their father beneath his arm with the ease of experience. Elrond had not spoken since their departure from Gwaihir, and it was obvious that all their combined powers would be absolutely necessary to save both twins now.

But silence did not keep hands from meeting, and the pair's fingers entwined with a mix of need and affection. Their short time together in the caves was not yet in the far memories of either, and weariness weighed on soul and body for both lovers. The twins' impending death, the suffering Legolas had freely accepted, the prince's passing in the caves, and then the chaos of the black war all through the night...

The comfort of firmly clasped hands was neither small nor unnecessary.

Elrond was oblivious to all save his son; he could feel the link between his children trying to grow as clearly as a twisting length of ensnaring vine, but he was vigilant in forbidding it to seek Elladan's soul. The fact that both of his sons might yet be saved was no less than a balm for his ailing spirit, but only just. Elrohir's curling shadow prowled their every touch like a tiger, seeking to trap as many of the Firstborn as it could in its snaring claws.

Time waned like the last sliver of light fleeing toward the new moon, and it showed in the healer's pace, practically dragging the elder twin along with him. He still held his palm fast against Elladan's sight, and it was growing unwelcome.

_How long must I stay this way?_ Elladan wondered, sickened by desperation. _I have to see him; I cannot lose him after I only just got him back!_

Elladan was visibly shaking by the time Gandalf spoke again, unable to do anything without being led by the arm, hemmed about by unknown mortals, and still confoundedly blind. Elrohir's silence did nothing to console him, and he could barely put one stumbling foot in front of the other as the wizard pushed them on.

The elder twin jerked when the wizard suddenly roared in search of Rohan's king:

"Theoden! Theoden- _Gamling!_" he thundered as a puff of red hair neared in the sea of faces. Gandalf's flowing white cloak drove the humans before him like a flock of sparrows as he fiorded the crowd toward the guardsman. "Make way, I say!"

Through the Istar's insistent shepherding the party was soon at hand, and the King's right-hand man found himself beset by an odd sight: an incensed white wizard holding the limp, blood-drenched elf from the field, two haggard yet regal elves: one covering the other's eyes and leading him by an elbow in a strangely shielded posture, Lord Aragorn limping along behind and the beautiful she-elf from earlier supporting the man's weight.

His eyes widened as he slowly recognized the warrior his men had been holding in check.

Gandalf was barking orders before they'd even reached him:

"We have need of an undisturbed area for these Eldar; they are the last surviving that we have found and they _may_ stay that way if you make haste and find me what I ask!"

Gamling looked harrowed but immediately complied, surveying the dying elf with soft eyes. "There is a space at the back wall," he offered quickly, gesturing and falling into swift step. "Let me secure some bedding; we can have the fire built up shortly."

"Tell your men to go into the mountains and find some Kingsfoil if they can reach it. We will need every aid possible to keep them..." The Istar's mordant tone said that his thoughts were travelling far from where his body now walked. "There will be little we can do without the aid of all at our disposal."

Aragorn took in Gandalf's words with sudden interest and a shred of dismay. They would need his help to draw them back from the brink it seemed, but he was not certain how much help he would be if consciousness fled him as it now threatened.

When he almost fell to the ground beside her tripping over a strange man in the corridor, Undomiel could hold her peace no longer.

"My lords," Arwen interjected, "might I tend Estel while you prepare them? The herb will take a while to gather, and these wounds need dressing."

Elrond seemed to return to them for a moment, a modicum of guilt colouring his gaze as he observed his youngest son's stiff gait. "Do as he requires," he assented. He addressed the ranger with acute remorse. "Forgive me, Estel; this will be difficult for me to maintain if I cannot lay hands on them. Can you-?"

"I am well, Ada," he nodded. "Go and save them. Please."

Elrond returned his nod without stopping and glided alongside the wizard to where Gamling was unrolling furs and soft leathers.

No longer under his scrutiny, the Dunadan fell against Arwen and she lowered him to a nearby cot, the patch of blood at his shoulder turning his face pale, his breathing ragged. He winced as she turned his arm loose at a slightly over-extended angle, cradling that arm into his chest.

_I am drained of more than blood, _he admitted with disdain._ But it matters not. I pray they return with the athelas soon. Elrohir aside, more than one of these men have need of it, if only I can..._

Aragorn sighed. He was tired, so very tired that his entire body rang with exhaustion. He had not expected this burden to extend past the dawn thinking that perhaps he would able to rest once the battle had been won. The battle- Valar, he had not even known if they would last the night, and now that dawn had broken it seemed a new struggle had begun, one just as daunting and far more complex.

The quiet of the tower and the drowsy scent of herbs lulled his troubled mind toward sleep. His eyes wanted to close, his head wanted to lay on the sleep furs and never rise. But there was need of his aid if his brothers were to come back to them, and his eyes cleared a little.

For them, he could find strength.

The couple did not speak as Arwen opened his tunic and began to clean the bloody shaft of the arrow where it lay embedded in his flesh. Estel knew she had been taught the healing arts as was befitting their father's daughter, but he had never witnessed her practise of them, and it pleased him now to do so.

He watched contentedly as she worked, and the details of her frame gave him solace: floating stray hairs about her face that had not been caught when she'd tied it back, the reflection of dawn and torchlight on her pale skin, the glint of deep blue eyes like gems as she studied the wound, the cross set of her mouth when she drew too close to the torn skin.

Arwen was everything. He did not know how he had done without her all this time. Sudden need cut his breath short, and he thought he might swoon from her presence.

She was _truly_ here with him, and now she would stay.

The silence ran long, and she noticed his gaze with a small smile, raising an eyebrow. "Has it been so long since we have seen one other that you know not my face?"

"Never," he replied honestly. "I just... I feared I would never see you again."

The admission laid him bare before her. It seemed to strike something in maiden that she had put to the past for the span of the evening's trials. Her eyes glistened as she spoke.

"And I, you."

Realizing what she must have felt, Aragorn reached for her with open, blood-smudged hands. She paid the filth no heed and leaned down to press her upper body against him, arms around his neck on the hammocking fabric below them. He breathed in the scent of her, running his hand through the length of her dark silken hair, eyes closing in a relief he'd thought never to feel again after their departure as the Nine Walkers.

It was indescribable.

"I have missed you, _melethril,_" he murmured. "My love..."

"We will have our life together, once we have vanquished the dark. I will hold to my pledge, if you will only do the same," she whispered, her breath caressing his ear as she spoke.

"I can do no less for you."

"Good." The word rang with a relief long wanted.

Arwen's eyes then narrowed in unseen apology, and she shifted her position above Aragorn's prone body. He didn't react.

_Good, because this will hurt._

The ranger did not notice when her long fingers swiftly took hold of the arrow, her arms acting as both trap and release and, without warning, ripped it clean from his shoulder with a strength he'd thought impossible.

"_Ghk-!_"

Necessary though it may have been, it didn't stop his jaw from snapping shut in a spasm of reaction and he nearly bucked up off of the cot. The suddenness of it stole the breath from his lungs, so at least his screams could not cause her guilt, he thought. But rather than look chagrined, the bewildered look of pain in his eyes seemed to sate her, and she snorted, soft and ladylike.

"It had to be removed," Arwen said simply. She raised one slim eyebrow. "And I wanted to make certain you learn from your mistake. If we are to part again, it shall be of both our wills."

Aragorn stared at her, trying to regain his lost equilibrium at the uncanny breadth and intensity of the fire rolling up and down his arm, breathing heavily through his nose.

"Remind me never to anger you again, my lady," he managed through his teeth.

One hand pressed down into the wound to cut off the bleeding, and the other cupped his cheek in reassurance, continuing to tend him as she spoke. "I just did. And you would do well to remember such a thing," she replied primly, not meeting his eyes for fear of losing her deadpan expression to a smile. "I would hate to have to tear arrows from you every time you presume to part us, my foolish ranger. Moreso, if I must put them there myself."

Aragorn stared. Her gibe had been soft, but he wasn't entirely certain that she was joking.

Arwen's mouth broadened into mirth at the look on his face, and she found herself suddenly, truly saddened at their playfulness, thinking of how Estel and Legolas had often exchanged such banter between them. As she swiped a clean, wet cloth across the wound on his leg, he glimpsed a sparkle falling from her chin even as the smile stayed in place, somewhat forced now that she fell silent.

"I did not wish you away, Arwen," he entreated her hoarsely, distressed at the idea that perhaps she felt unwanted. "I only wished you a long and happy life, as you were meant for."

She looked up at him and the grin faltered.

"And as he will never have," the Evenstar mourned, a quiver taking her chin, and Aragorn felt a lump rise in his throat as well. She tried to articulate: "I wish we could have..."

_I wish we could have saved him._

A sob stopped her from continuing, and this time she hugged him in earnest, her shoulders shaking from her tears. The worries of the day overwhelmed her at last, her brothers on the border of life and death a few steps away and their dear friend lying in state somewhere within the darkened castle walls, hidden from the sun, the stars, and the trees.

Aragorn gingerly pulled himself into a sitting position and took her in his arms, finally allowing himself to remember his friend's pale, blood-spattered face as it had appeared only hours ago, and she shared her tears between them, his own spent so long ago that he could no longer weep.

_We took the day, mellon-nin, but... what now, without you at our side?_

~0~

Legolas mind drifted as it once had in death, only this time his pleas for some kind of relief from the blackness were answered with a deep and sudden knowledge:

_They have sent the Light back with me, but it was not meant for me._

As he lay along the paths of sleep, the Sight took him to the top corner of the tower, where the greying light of Mithrandir, Elrond Peredhil and his sons glowed as beacons in the dark, surrounded in company by the shadows that feasted on the younger twin's soul like wolves at the kill. It hurt; it still hurt _terribly_ to see such darkness, and the sparks held fast in the fading mortal bodies around them made his heart ache as they dimmed. One such glow stood out brighter among them, and he saw a brighter white flame and the clear blue light of a star not far away, drawing his 'gaze'.

He could hear his kinsmen speaking in hushed, frantic tones around him, mostly about whether a healer would be able to help him, if Mithrandir was nearby and if they should try to wake him again. His spirit flamed against the bonds of his flesh, and though he wished to release it, he could not come to consciousness, not yet. The Darkness still paced the boundaries of his mind, waiting for an opening to strike, and he chose to bide his time until the hour came to release the Rays in all their brilliance.

Blackness wrapped him again, and he promised into the silence.

_I am coming, Elrohir..._

~0~

To all appearances, the bundle held in the arms of the Lorien elf was nothing more than a dead body- until the golden light shone forth in snatches from beneath the heavy blanket.

"Move! All of you, make way!"

The armoured elf in front of him shoved a particularly ragged human out of their path and almost under a horse as they fled. His captain had been clearing the path for them with militaristic efficiency, not allowing anyone to pause them in their rush to the western tower, but a particularly thick congregation of Rohirrim barred their way now, and Haldir's checks for any sign of consciousness beneath the blanket were steadily growing into possible psychosis.

Eowyn's face cleared the throng for only a moment on her way to the healers, and she glimpsed a flash of light followed by the imprint of a face she had once seen from a much closer view.

"_Legolas?_" she murmured, pushed back in her stupor to hit the barricade of bodies at her back.

_It can't be... Why do they-?_

"Get _out of our way!_" The Lorien captain had lost his patience at last and wore an expression akin to that of a rabid dog. Haldir wrestled his way through the people pressed in around them, and angered voices were beginning to rise.

"What is the meaning of this, master elf?"

"Your kin may have come to us in aid, but that doesn't mean you can-"

"Let us pass, I say!" Haldir too was nearing panic: Legolas eyes were slitting open, bright light spilling from their lids as he did. "You must bring Gandalf- _you don't understand!_"

"No, I don't! You think you can start giving orders to men of Rohan?"

"You want us to hold 'em for you?"

"You_ fools!_" the captain shouted, seething at their ignorance. This was quickly growing out of hand.

"Your kin weren't the only ones to die today!" someone else shouted.

Haldir's hands began to tense in want of a weapon. If they were rushed, they'd stand no chance against the entire keep full of humans.

"_My lords!_"

Eowyn weaved through pockets in the visibly tensing crowd to Haldir's side, hoping to calm her people before the conflict could escalate any further. In a flourish of sweeping golden curls, the woman placed herself firmly between the bristling men and the armoured elven captains. Her presence quieted most of them into tight-lipped ranks; one did not defy a shield-maiden, especially the niece of the King himself.

"Haman, shouldn't you be with your son?" she asked curtly, cloud-light eyes resting on the man until he could no longer hold her gaze. Haman ducked his head in deference and opened his mouth to defend himself...

There was a great echo, forming itself into a single word.

"_**Elrohir**__._"

The soft yet staggering utterance silenced the entire gathering as efficiently as a well-placed arrow.

It was accompanied by a shaft of golden light that rippled from the openings in the cloth Haldir bore in his arms. As if they were made of pure glowing sun, two graceful, shining hands removed the coating of fabric shielding it from prying eyes, and placed perfectly balanced feet onto the cool stone, shedding shimmering waves of reflected light scattering across his path.

Eowyn's breath strangled in her throat. It was undeniably Legolas' face that emerged, but the creature that stood before them was not of their world, nor of his presence.

With the contact of his skin to tangible ground, a twisted flow of encompassing golden mist flared out of him in a wide halo, causing those nearest him to gasp and pull away in fright, some scrambling away across the floor where they had fallen. If a statue of the great Manwe or Illuvatar himself had come off of its pedestal and come to walk among them, it could not have been more exquisite nor more terrifying than the figure they now beheld.

A pulsing hand swept in a drifting, wide arc, indicating serenely that they should clear the path. The echo came again.

"_**Please**_."

Compliance was instant.

The figure of pure light lifted its head to the stairwell, flaming eyes locked on the tower of the Healing House, and in a lithe movement that seemed to move his entire body as one without pause, the archer placed one foot on the stair, then another, slowly and deliberately keeping his body as still as possible.

Every member of the Rohirrim clan stood stock still below as they beheld him, every face watching in stunned disbelief as the angelic being climbed the length of the staircase, the only sound against granite walls being the tap of bare feet on each stone step, paced and methodic. More gathered to watch the ascent as the glowing creature neared the doors to the Healing House, a beacon that drew the eyes of all, including Theoden himself as he entered the open floor, his jaw dropping in recognition.

It was a sight, to be sure.

It took every ounce of countrol Haldir possessed not to follow and grab his lord by both arms. Their last experience with a tower had nearly taken the rest of his immortality in his fright, but there was definite purpose to his lord's stride this time. He could hear soft whispers from the crowd about him, but behind the wash of gossip, Legolas muttered to himself as he moved. The power behind each syllable was such that they were audible even from so great a distance. It was disturbing to hear: somewhere between unstable discourse with himself and a possessed, spirit-drawn chant:

"_**It is he who hath need of it now**__..._"

When he finally reached the tower, no one had the courage to follow him, and there was not a breath to be heard.

Eowyn found her eyes swimming from more than just the blinding assault upon them, and a sigh of profound gladness escaped her.

He had returned.

~0~

"It left the world and took its flight  
Over the wide seas of the night.  
The moon set sail upon the gale,  
And stars were fanned to leaping light."

_Over the Misty Mountains Cold_ – excerpt, J.R.R Tolkien

~0~

In the back corner of the infirmary, the ruling house of Rivendell was fading like a sandbar beneath a swift current.

The Healing House had grown colder and darker as the day wore on, the fire gradually dying as freely the wounded, and the warm glint of sunshine turned to a cold, silvery white as noon approached.

It had been a grueling course of hours, and Elrond was losing the spiritual grip on his son; the power he had been pouring into the barrier between his twin sons was becoming too much to lose quietly. Both hands lay over Elladan's eyes on the pallet below him, and every shudder that rocked his eldest son tugged at the elf lord's heart.

Sweat ran down his face, and he snarled as the bond once again attempted to reassert itself over Elladan's body. Elrond bit back an undignified growl of sheer frustration as Elladan's shoulder again darkened with stripes of blood that faded in and out like flitting shadows beneath the surface of a wave.

_I cannot keep it from touching him much longer... This bond was not meant to be parted in such a way. _

Elrohir's slack, marble-white features attested to his musings. Having cleaned some of the gore covering the twin's stark visage, his face alone shone like a death mask in a body of carved obsidian. Elrond did not want to think about how much killing his gentler, more carefree child had accomplished in the absence of the half of his heart that Elladan had always possessed.

The twins were indeed matched in every physical way, but Elladan had always been the stronger of the two, caring for his brother in a role that befit a missing parent more than a sibling. While he had been worried about Elladan since the plains, this was a new ache entirely:

It hurt to contemplate what sort of hell the younger twin had been through that night, alone.

Meanwhile, Elladan was doing his best to stay strong in the face of uncertain fate where he lay, but the passage of time played with his thoughts like ocean waves with a boat of driftwood. His throat worked.

"Ada, may I not at least hold his hand?" he murmured in a surge of torment, as if unable to stop the words from leaving him.

"Stay as you are, Elladan," his father warned him, tightening his grip just a little to drive his point. "If you touch him now it will only hinder him."

A pause. "Yes, Ada," came the obedient reply.

His heart was visibly breaking.

Elladan had been awake all the while and was utterly beside himself. There was nothing, not a sound nor a touch from the spirit of his twin, even though he had heard him placed on the pallet adjacent him a lifetime ago. Being neither allowed to see nor move a muscle while the Maiar worked was enough to drive him distracted, and every so often a pinching pain would form in his side when his brother's presence grew too near for Gandalf or Elrond to catch.

Throughout his body, eerily familiar scratches formed and disappeared at random. Each laceration caught him in the midst of comfort at the knowledge that his brother still lived- and horror that he might join him in an agonizing end. The hurts came and went, and there was no answer from his brother's mind nor his heart save for occasional snatches of pitch black and bitter cold.

He was going stark mad in the blackness, and even his father's touch did not help.

"_Ai,_" Elladan wailed softly, feeling the overwhelming void in Elrohir's direction creeping into him at last. His hands fisted in the thick fur pillowing him, and the shadow steadily gained more ground. His voice broke.

"Ada, I _beg _of you, please-"

"Mithrandir, the line is not receding," Elrond gritted, his heart contracting at his son's plea, his voice turning sharp. "Have you sealed him?!"

"These things take time young one, and time we have not had," Gandalf replied beside him, as equally drained as the Noldor and trying sucessfully to mask it. "Keep on him, and I will release the boy once he is whole. This darkness has ravaged him, but t'will not take him yet."

The elf lord wanted to believe him, but for all his power and abilities he could not seem to stop the connection from claiming them entirely. Elladan was fully open to receiving his brother's _fea _from centuries of synergy, and that was something the boy could not help. He truly did not want to separate his sons this way, not when Elrohir lay so close to death and needed their support so very badly.

But he had learned long ago that one did not disobey the commands of Gandalf the White and not regret it. The wizard saw even more than he; that was something he freely admitted.

_Illuvatar, give them your strength. I do not believe that you have meant for them to come this far and not remain._

Despite his efforts, with every passing second Elrond's own spirit grew darker, and heaviness weighed on his heart in ways he had not experienced in an age.

It was all too familiar: the state of Elrohir's body and the palpable evil rooting in him like a massive, towering nest of thorns, sucking the life from every part of him it touched. Celebrian had _sailed_ the last time such a struggle had taken place, and that knowledge was dragging the Lord of Imladris downward into chaos as surely as the shadow that now took his son.

Elrond gritted his teeth, and readied his near-emptied reserves to draw forth another plentiful surge of healing energy, one that would undoubtedly pull him to the edge of life if he gave of himself further... but he would not allow this to pass.

The grieving father was stopped short as Gandalf's eyes suddenly raised to the outer doors, standing straight up with his staff in both hands.

As if on cue, the doors opened with a startling squeal of working hinges and creaking wood.

Every head turned.

Each person in the Healing House looked up in concert, and all were thunderstruck by an engulfing wave of thick gold that flooded the room in a hurricane of illumination. Sparks like that of a disturbed hearth fire swirled around the body that stood in the entrance, and his countenance brimmed with light that hurt Aragorn to look at closely. Gasps echoed from every corner of the room, and the ranger stood, ready to defend his family.

Aragorn's heart fell at the possibility of another hurdle to be crossed, and he strove in vain to glimpse the new creature through the heavenly veil concealing this new force. What kind of magic could possibly approach them now?!

Elladan had been about to snap, save for the soothing warmth that had gusted around him at the stranger's entry. He did not see the light, but the titanic winds that tugged at his skin and fanned his hair up over his head spent the last of his composure, and he struggled to rise. "Ada, what is it?! _What is happening?!_" Elladan screamed for answers, but none came.

Both Elrond and Gandalf were completely frozen, with expressions almost identically sculpted into patterns of uncomprehending disbelief. This kind of unspeakable power was not given lightly, and Gandalf knew firsthand what it meant to emerge in such a form. Elrond only knew of the phenomenon from many long hours with Lord Glorfindel, but even that famed event had been nothing like this.

The two were utterly dumbstruck, and it was not a common display for either.

This merely served to fuel Aragorn's rising alarm. "Gandalf?!" he cried, unable to tear his eyes from the light as it entered, drawing closer. The ground was vibrating beneath them from each energy-filled step the being took, far too much of an impact for something the size of what now came for them.

Arwen blanched and caught Aragorn's shoulder, swaying on her feet as the being's face was revealed in a patch of lesser glow- along with his identity. Her eyes went round, and her mouth fell open.

"_Eru above_..." she breathed inaudibly. She had not dared hope...

Slowly, the ranger's eyes adjusted to the glare radiating from the newcome brilliance, leaking tears, both hands lifted against the searing beams.

When he finally saw his face through the white, Estel's breath froze in his lungs.

There was no way that this could be, but there was no mistaking the fair archer for anything other than himself.

Aragorn choked, unwilling to speak for risking the loss of this moment, were it merely the work of some illusory spell. His eyes welled for a different reason than the brightness, and he took an involuntary, shuddering step forward as his legs drained of their strength.

"L...Le..." His lips formed the word, but he failed to utter it.

It was he. It was Legolas.

Aragorn tried not to fall to his knees with the shock. Never had he thought for one moment that their triumph would be so complete, not after the tragedies of that night, not after Legolas had gone so petrifyingly still in his arms. Deep down, Aragorn had known in his heart that whether they lived or died, whether his brothers be saved, whether Saruman's army be defeated or the whole of Middle Earth go dark before them, that never again would he see his dear friend this side of the shimmering sea.

A gaping hole within him was filled for the first time since that horrifying night in the caves.

Legolas was alive.

The risen prince stood in a rictus of knife-edged concentration, his now flame-coloured eyes focused on Aragorn's brothers as the glow erupted from them anew. There he stood motionless, struggling to keep his legs straight and steadied, eyes riveted on Elrohir alone.

Aragorn started, staring as empty cots and the less weighty of the supplies were suddenly thrown asunder about them. With the once-dead archer's last step into the tower, heated, savage winds buffeted the room like an entrapped hurricane: not from outside the doors, but from inside the archer himself.

The ranger remembered vaguely the golden streak of light that had strung the field shortly before he'd been shot, not knowing whence it had come, and a kind of nameless terror swept Aragorn as he looked upon the transfigured form of his best friend. He took a step toward him, hands outstretched as if to take Legolas into his arms, but could not bring himself to do it. Bewilderment held him fast, chilling him and arresting his brain's insistent orders to his limbs.

What power had taken the elf after he had gone to bring him forth in such a state?

The questions terrified him as much as the answers- until suddenly, he was at the ranger's side, inches away. Without thinking Aragorn closed the small space between them and cupped the elf's cheek in his shaking hand.

It was solid and held the consistency of any flesh and blood being, but his skin vibrated with the same frequency as the stones of the floor. Ripples of light were bathing his hand where he touched him.

"Legolas...?" the ragged ranger whispered, barely breathing as he watched the elf respond.

For a moment his heart fell; there was no recognition in the glowing eyes. He thought perhaps to retreat for fear of having been remiss in his brashness, but a steel-strong hand on his elbow stopped him, drawing a gasp from his throat.

In a slight, agonizingly gradual swivel of Legolas' head, their eyes met... and the elf was looking at him, _into _him with an alien presence in his questioning gaze. It was like being naked beneath the sun itself, all his soul laid bare before the towering, churning presence that presided over both earth and sky, and he was a mere wisp of cloud beneath it. He felt heat spreading into his fingertips where they touched skin.

At long last, fire-filled eyes were touched with more than just pain and spirited determination: there was recognition, and a relief there that ran deeper than Estel could have hoped to fathom. Aragorn searched his face with rising hope.

The prince's mouth stretched in a gentle, pleased smile, oblivious of the tears that stained the man's stubbled face.

He spoke.

"_**Estel**__._"

Aragorn shuddered despite the warm tone, trying to return the gesture and failing, eyes flickering.

Even his voice was not of Arda now.

The words rang with an intensity and a mountainous timbre that should not have been possible from any single Elven throat. There were thousands upon thousands of voices, whispers, shrieks, and murmurs in a tumult of tones: loving, commanding, warning, consoling, sighing, and screaming. They spoke of forces unknowable and unstoppable that seemed to have found their rest inside the Mirkwood elf, and Aragorn found himself deeply and truly afraid.

The elf's joy was cut short when Legolas' eyes focused just over his shoulder on a cot that held a bloodied mortal.

As if against his will, his attention was caught entirely by the dying man, as if he could sense something too great to be ignored. His distraction was paid for in suffering; Legolas flinched, jerking his face away from Aragorn's hand as if it were the mortal's figure that shone too bright to witness. The light gathered around the injured human, then flared and dissipated, having found no purchase in his already cold body.

This man of Rohan had already made his choice.

It soon became plain why the prince was so deathly focused on his aim upon entering the Healing House, and why he had only spared a moment to look upon on his dearest friend.

"_No!_" Legolas cried. The instant the light vanished back into his body, his features twisted in a spasm, and he sobbed only once, rocking back as if he had felt the death himself, as if _he_ had plunged into the dark. It was as if the old Legolas had fought his way to the forefront again, his voice merely physical for one pleading instant. But the words were both of Man and Elf, two voices speaking as one.

The second voice Aragorn realized belonged to the man on the cot:

"_Let me go_-_ I cannot stay, let me_-_ Let me go- the Halls! The Halls..._"

Then Legolas straightened, and his face snapped back into a kind of schooled determination with frightening speed, as if the attack had never come, all familiarity gone along with it. The glowing archer turned his gaze back to Gandalf, resuming his slow pace to the end of the room, albeit with far longer pauses between his steps.

Clinging to Arwen's side, the ranger watched torn and transfixed as the swirling cloud of flameless embers took his friend's body once again. He noticed that it was not that Legolas' body _walked_ so much as the light itself drove him onward, and the destination became obvious.

It appeared that help for his brothers had been sent from above. And it had chosen Legolas as its vessel to deliver it.

Even Mithrandir was still gaping as the prince strode with impossible deliberation to the bedside of Elrond's sons. This was a playing piece that he had not foreseen.

Legolas' feet lit the stones where he stood, and he reached down to wrap strong fingers around Elrond's right shoulder. As soon as he touched him, the healer was hit with a rush of vision that told him exactly what he needed to do, and how to do it. He had long been the giver of such knowledge and power himself, but being the recipient of that force sent him reeling.

Lord Elrond barely recognized the barrage on his senses as a command before the golden elf opened his mouth and spoke into the silence:

"_**Elrohir**_... _**Come**_."

The echoing order hurt Aragorn's ears even with his dull mortal hearing from all the way across the room.

So it was no great surprise when Elrohir's eyes shot open and he screamed with inhuman volume in response.

All hell broke loose.

The ranger was running toward them before he'd even realized what was happening. Gandalf tried to take hold of the bucking elf, but he was not faster than Legolas. The prince held him down by his forehead and wrist, bracing the arm against the twin's stomach to force him down. He fought them in whipping, unnatural movement that spoke of a deep and terrible possession beneath twisting flesh and bone, screaming without ceasing.

As he had been instructed moments before, Elrond removed his hand from Elladan's eyes and shoved him forward toward his twin, bidding him go as Aragorn threw his entire weight over Elrohir's lashing legs:

"Take his hands, my son! You have moments only!"

Elladan could not have complied any quicker. He grabbed for his brother's hands as they sought to inflict blows upon the ethereal archer, the angered evil rebuking them violently for wounding it with such blazing light, but they did not let go. Still he bucked and writhed and carried on, the black speech pouring out of him like a fountain.

The Shadow had taken full control of his body, and it was not going without a fight.

Screaming that made Aragorn want to retch continued as Legolas spoke over his elder brother in a rising tone. He had only heard such a tongue from one other creature in Arda, and he could not bear to hear such bellowing come from Elrohir's mouth.

His eyes clenched shut and he kept pressing down with every ounce of strength he had left.

The twin's upper body was freed, however; Elrohir threw his head forward, his hair strapping them across their faces with streaks of vile blood, cracking into Elladan's nose and mouth with such force that he was knocked all the way across the pallets and into his father, his hands leaving Elrohir's for a few seconds before scrambling to him again, his nostrils streaming blood.

"Elrohir!"

Elrond's stomach curdled and his spine chilled as the form of a gnarled, skeletal orc took his beloved child's place for only an instant under Legolas' touch.

It was the longest moment of the elf lord's considerable life.

A blaze of light shone anew and Elrohir's face returned, gasping, and his movements lessened into agonized flailing, like a fish drowning on dry land. Much as he had before at their bond's acceptance, the sheer strength of the archer's arms held the struggling twin's head at each temple like a pair of fiery shackles, and smoke rose from where his hands touched the pitch-coloured skin.

Legolas' temples were throbbing, and veins showed through the skin. The shadow was attacking him with reckless throes of agony wherever it could break through, but he held fast against it; the prince had not come this far to fail them both now. It would be close, however; his teeth ground aloud.

Elladan crushed his sibling's hands together against his chest, focusing the grace he possessed to steady them in their spiritual warring. "Come away, _gwanur!_" he cried. "Do not leave us here to endure without you! _Do not forsake the light! Fight!_"

Legolas' mighty voices rang out against the dark, and the final blow was struck:

"_**LEAVE HIM BE, THOU SHADOW OF MORGOTH! ELROHIR ELRONDION- COME FORTH!"**_

Elrohir gave a shriek as if his limbs were slowly being torn from him by force, and just when Elladan thought he could take no more, a mighty roar of wind burst through every window in the tower, ripping away blankets and dousing torches with its passing. Aragorn cried out, and the clutch of elves and men threw up hands and arms to avoid flying objects that pelted them from the gales. Gandalf's shining staff formed a glowing ball of shielding around him, and the storm ceased with a few firm words from the Istar's mouth.

Silence fell.

The first thought Aragorn had was that he could see at last; the light had receded into a bearable haze for the first time since the ordeal had begun.

Elrond feared what he would see as he picked himself up from the floor, finding Estel pooled in his lap, still reeling from the battering gusts. His senses were scattered, his mind undone. Where were his sons? How had they fared in their final moments of the battle? He extended his mind to meet them...

A cry broke forth from the centre of the space the three elves now occupied, and Elladan's voice called out, his tone stilted as blinded sight returned.

"_El... El?!_"

Elrond's throat closed on him as he felt his son's presence and saw his features healthily blushed. Elrohir's eyes were filled with awareness, and his father sobbed.

The Song flowed through his child still.

Legolas had not moved an inch from the gripping stance of his patient, holding himself stock-still in his gleaming gaze until he could be sure the work was done.

He was not disappointed. After a handful of shaking breaths, Elrohir locked his hands about Legolas' head. Slowly, without breaking their contact, the dark-haired elf sat up, lifting them both into a kneeling embrace, his eyes streaming.

"Legolas...?"

At that, the archer's eyes finally closed. It was done.

This what what they had fought for. How had the two become such violent forces of nature's bosom from such simple bonds: the ties of friendship and self-sacrifice? They held each other's faces close with strained difficulty, as if forcing themselves to look upon each other would break any lingering grip of light and darkness on their overwrought spirits.

With a sigh, Legolas' warm illumination dimmed to a comforting candle's glow, and the fog that hindered Elrohir's light was excluded from their embrace, the twin's natural soft illumination breaking to the surface once more, and they wept with the sheer joy of it.

They held each other deathly close, as if neither could afford to break apart from the other, and Legolas tired yet pinpointed gaze told them that he was still working the last drop of the Light deep into the Noldor elf's soul, engulfing every piece of the dark that sought survival.

Gandalf's eyes glistened as he saw the last of the shadow disappear into the eaves of the world, and he laid a hand on Elladan's shoulder, nodding that he could go to his brother.

"L-Legolas..." Elrohir stammered, staring into the Silvan prince's eyes with shell-shocked terror, trying to comprehend how this miracle had occurred.

The younger of the twins was still reeling as he realized with certainty from the forehead pressed against his own that this was not the spirit world, his blue-green eyes welded into the archer's now crystal blue gaze. Elladan was taking his brother's hands gently from Legolas' hair, gathering him into his arms and wrapping him in a brown fur-lined skin from the floor.

Elladan's eyes struck Legolas with such gratitude that the prince was rendered speechless, but it did not matter to either. There was nothing they could say.

The depth of their love had been shown at its greatest in the actions of this day.

Elrohir's eyes were drifting shut with exhaustion, despite his efforts to remain staring into the risen archer's eyes. It was as if he feared he would vanish if he looked in the other direction for too long.

"L-L'golas...Legolas... you... It is really y-you...?"

The golden-haired archer merely smiled, looking tired and contented as he stroked the twin's locks with a now freed hand. Legolas' purpose had been fulfilled, and he had never been happier to have succeeded. His relief at seeing the twins restored was only as great as his relief when the Light had finally left him, receding into the depths of Elrohir's fraying spirit and releasing its roiling pressure from his newly awakened body. The voices had left, and now the Song returned to its usual comforting lilt, no longer a battering ram of power attempting to escape his frail form in mind-shattering flight.

Elrond held his son's hand in his own, feeling the returning warmth there with breath of steadying knowledge: Elrohir was whole again. It appeared the elf lord still had a part to play, for he had been saved as surely as his sons.

"Eru Illuvatar, you watch over us still," he murmured.

Aragorn stared in wonder and silent prayers of thankfulness at the two figures that held his heart, kneeling together on the floor of the tower, moving, breathing, feeling naught of the darkness' cruel touch. He sobbed softly in Arwen's hair where she had fixed herself against him, his body draining of the adrenaline that had kept him going all this time.

_Valar, I beg your forgiveness... With such a gift as this, how can I ever doubt your grace again?_ the man wondered.

His hope in their victory was bolstered anew, and he did not know now how he had lost it on the battlefield that now lay at their backs. There was no brotherhood among the Dark, but their own would stand firm to the end, even beyond. If any doubt had remained, it was blown away with the storm of Legolas' coming. They were all brothers, as clearly as if Legolas had shared the bloodline of Earendil himself. None could ever take that from them.

Gandalf said not a word as he lifted Legolas into his arms and onto the now smoothed pallets, covering him with another heavy fur as Elladan laid his brother to rest beside him.

"Let us leave them be. Rest is the best medicine for them now."

Arwen released him with a gentle shove, indicating that he stay by Legolas' side. He followed her nudge with no resistance, watching Legolas' familiar eyes glaze into the first stages of Elven sleep and placing a hand on his chest as he maneuvered to lay beside him on the pallet. Estel was not certain how long it would be before he felt safe enough to leave the returned prince to rest on his own without the ranger's personal vigil nearby.

The elf seemed to sense this, and before long a slender hand wound its way outside of the cover to take the ranger's own in a gentle grip. Mortal eyes closed, and the ranger's body gave at long last, his head tucked into the space beneath Legolas' arm as easily as it had when he was a boy. The archer's head leaned toward him, and he sighed in contentment.

Elladan joined his twin on the adjoining pallet, keeping watch for the slightest sign of discomfort. He would not dare sleep for fear of awaking to the reality that their family was not truly whole. It was all like a dream long past come to placate them in their need of respite, and Elladan felt shaken still. He ran his fingers through his brother's dried hair, attempting to rid him of the tangling clots of dirt that still clung there. He set about cleaning his skin with a warm, soaked cloth and stroked his forehead in fond contemplation. His heart swore his oath anew even as he watched Elrohir recede from consciousness:

_I will never leave you again, El. Never again._

Gandalf leaned his head toward the doors, pulling Elrond away to seek his own rest and leave the young ones in peace. He would not have followed, but Elladan nodded him into acceptance, vowing silently to alert him to the slightest change. The wearied elf-lord spared one last smile for his eldest, and for the young-looking ranger curled on the bedding, and then conceded to Arwen's beckoning toward a bed of his own.

"Sleep well, my children."

Unseen in the dim firelight, moments after they fell into sleep, fingers reached and Silvan and Noldor hands clasped in solidarity, in comfort that they were together, and in thankfulness that both lived to dwell in Arda once again.

~0~

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

~0~

I may edit this some more, as it was a sporadic process, God help me... but thank you thank you THANK you all for getting me this far! I thought a New Year's post was appropriate, but I am sure it will be rewritten a bit once I get a chance to step away from it. I will also continue with a few more chapters to wrap things up, get final fears laid to rest and to ready the scene for the next impending war... which I may or may not write. :D

Happy New Year, everyone! Blessings to you and your house!


End file.
